Saturday, August 28, 2004

Mr. Boudreaux, Your Reputation Follows You

A seventy-year old pharmacist. Dancin' in the Moonlight. Boudreaux's Butt Paste.

Maybe I should rephrase that.

We have a cat. Said cat requires more medical attention than the Pope. Part of her elaborate treatments for I'm a Pain in the Ass disease involve twice-daily doses of something or other, and this medication can't be purchased at a normal pharmacy. For this, we must journey to a pharmacy we refer to as Ye Olde Apothecary Shoppe. Here, their staff of witches and warlocks mix all kinds of solutions that are unavailable on the light side.

It's the kind of place you should have to enter through a tree.

Ye Olde Apothecary Shoppe works on a schedule last popular in the mid-eighteenth century. It's one of those places that closes for lunch and reopens when they're damn well ready. So Gloria dropped off the prescription on Thursday morning, and they told her that it would be ready on Saturday, when they're open from eleven to one.

Gloria would normally pick it up, but she took Eli to see the Dora the Explorer show today. I saw a video clip of a middle-aged man with a paunch wearing a Boots the Monkey costume and I thought I was watching an induction ceremony into the Flaccid Hall of Fame. I used an elaborate points system I've constructed to claim that I was not required to attend this event. So I'm picking up cat medicine instead.

One step away from James Bond, I am.

I walk into the pharmacy and behind the counter, all alone, is a man who must easily be in his seventies. That is not terrifically strange, but hearing 'Dancin' in the Moonlight' (King Harvest 1970's) blasting from the speakers in conjunction with seeing a seventy-year old pharmacist gets much closer. That's when I saw a large display for Boudreaux's Butt Paste. I didn't know that Cajun's had such a strong demand for diaper cream, but there's much I don't know.

I'd like to be able to say that the pharmacist was reading a dog-eared copy of the Necronomicon, or that Boudreaux himself walked in and called me a couyon, but none of that happened.

It could have, though, and for that I was glad.

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