Personal Hell

This is a poem about my wonderful job in the pharmacy field.

Mom and Dad thought I'd never reach this position.

Now I'm in the pharmacy working as a technician.

It's a career that requires a lot of endurance,

Especially when people b***h about their insurance.

But when everything's cool and smoothly runs through

Sick people are quick to bow and say "God bless you."

I'm thinking, "Whatever, I'm just doing my job.

Now go away, you smell like a slob."

I work 8 to 8, twelve hour shifts.

All day long I assemble controled "gifts"

Prescribed to addicts who claim they're in pain.

In reality they're just mentally insane.

The ironic thing is these people never get well.

I just think they're here to fuel my personal hell.

Reviews

[Kim]

What about the ones who are greatful for the meds that will help them breath a little easier, or for the heart to beat another day. There has to be those that are thankful for what you do. I know I am, my pharmacist's are my friends, they notice when I haven't been around and ask if things are ok. They always have a smile for me.......and a genuine caring smile I believe. Sure there are the people who get angry and want what they want even if it's not what the doctor ordered, or the cost they can afford. But in every job there is something, something that causes us stress. Do you love your job of choice? If not I suggest a new career

[Jacqueline]

Very bitting and snarky-I like it! ;) I could imagine the bitching and moaning and having a frozen smile as you deal with the drabby day to day...ugh!

[Gandré]

in this world everybody has got his own universe.
:=)
i voted for u. good luck.

[Crystal Mullings]

Out of this world! Only Supervillian!

[Tony]

and so they are, and so it is.