If Your Name is Duane Reade, Watch Your Back in Aisle #4

Blindgator is a personal blog, written from the point of view of Brian, the one and only legally blind comic, which is an AWESOME tag line!

From his recent trip with his dog to Duane Reade:

And then we came to the Duane Reade. We were navigating pretty well, until I turned down one aisle, and Nash cleared the display, but the handle of the harness didn’t. And crash, I think they were chips of some kind, as I was in the soda aisle, but it did make a loud noise, and my first reaction. I actually shouted out, “Clean up aisle 4.” It made me laugh, besides what else am I going to say. “Sorry, but if Duane Reade didn’t find it necessary to put a display in every bit of free walking space, these things wouldn’t happen/” I am betting that I am not the first blind person to ever go into a Duane Reade, and probably not the first blind person with a guide dog to go into a Duane Reade. What the hell does Duane Reade do when someone in a wheel chair comes into the store? The pharmacy is in the back of the store. Do they have to go to every aisle, and maybe actually find one that you don’t have to squeeze through? I do not believe knocking over part of the display was Nash’s fault. I chock that one up to Duane Reade. If I ever meet someone named Duane Reade, I may have to be restrained from punching them.

I'm hoping his dog is named after Nash Bridges, 'cause that would earn extra points.

Why I Hate You: Executive CU Next Tuesday

Hi Guys - I need to vent. Can I pull up a chair?

Scene: 8am at the DR. I need my coffee and these days it's in the form of a Starbucks Frappuccino. You know, this kind?

There's a line snaking down the cereal aisle, as usual, because there is only one register open.
In my defense I tried the 'buy it at the pharmacy' trick, but there was a long line there as well.

So I brave the line and set myself behind a squat, sunglass-indoors-wearing, business woman with a shopping carriage. Full carriage, not the hand-held kind.

I wonder immediately what's in there, because no one in a business suit buys their groceries at Duane Reade. Yell all you want, but you know I'm right.

I also think, briefly: Oh, she's probably got snacks for an office party or something. So I sneak a peek.

In her cart. There are. One bag of pretzels. And one single serving size of Special K.

Blood starts to simmer. Granted, she could have a shoulder injury or weak wrists or some shit, but at the point I start to rationalize why this woman would create the school play version of a clogged artery in my Duane Reade with her goddamn cart...she sighs that "I don't have time for this because I'm important" sigh.

Blood boil has hit 'rattle.' But I take a breath because this is just a small part of my day. If I remain calm, a cold frappuccino is waiting for me.

Oh but no. Now, we have what I call "the Y". "The Y" is the dual-pronged line that forms when folks in the main cash area don't realize that there's a line straight down the aisle and therefore form their own line off to the side.

Shopping Carriage heaves another sigh and loudly proclaims: "Excuse me, the line is back here!" Ok, the Y people mumble some apologies and head behind me. I try to smile in the "You know she's crazy, but let's just get through this" manner, but they're not reading me.

Hallelujah! A second line opens! Alright, people, let's make some decisions here!

Here's where it gets ugly. Shopping carriage continues straight to the 1st line, while no one is approaching the 2nd register, wayyyy over on the opposite side of the cashier area. It's pretty obvious her ass ain't moving any time soon.

So I ask her: "Ma'am? Would you mind if I go over to that other register and start a new line?"

Her response: "I don't care."

Me: "Well, I'm asking you."

She: "I don't make the rules."

Me, holding in my wrath: "Ok." And I shuffle off to the open register.

And I hear: "You're supposed to let the the next person in line go next!"

ohnoshedidn't.

Me: "I just asked you if it was ok?!"

She: "Whatever."

Now I'm pissed. I reply: "Well, I'm really sorry. Looks like you've got a lot to carry there. How's it going, by the way? It must be tough for you...managing your cart filled with absolutely NOTHING?!"

::Blank Stare::

So I get to the register, all proud of myself, and here comes Shopping Cart! She's making her way to MY LINE, even though she's next to be rung up at her register. What in blue fuck is wrong with her?

Naturally, like any mature 32 year old, I take as long as humanely possible to complete my transaction. Oh, would I want to add a pack of gum to my total? Hmm....which flavor....Oh and I think I have exact change! Let me....take....a....look....Nope, you go ahead. Oh, I think I have my club card...let'ssssssss....seeeee.......

And after I hear a big sigh from Shopping Cart, I slowly turn around, shine my shiniest smile and wish her a wonderful Tuesday.

Damn hog.

Duane Reade Ranked #7 out of 7 ::cue surprise face::

Bwahahhaaahahahaaa!!! (lightning bolt)

Big fat kudos to Meredith for pointing this out - rock it, M!

Did you see this?

Duane Reade ranks 7th of 7 brick-and-mortar pharmacies for customer satisfaction. Big surprise.

In case you don't have a WSJ online subscription, here's the post:

April 17, 2007, 12:07 pm

Pharmacy Survey Says: Medicine Shoppe No. 1

Posted by Jacob Goldstein

When people get prescriptions filled, they like to be asked whether they want to speak with the pharmacist — even though they don't usually want to have that conversation. (Apparently, consumers just like to know it's an option.) That's among the findings released today from J.D. Power and Associates, which for the first time ranked customer satisfaction at pharmacies.

The results are based on an online survey of 6,543 U.S. consumers conducted last fall. The top retail pharmacy was Medicine Shoppe, an international franchise business owned by the drug distributor Cardinal Health. Here are the complete rankings for brick-and-mortar pharmacies:

1. Medicine Shoppe
2. CVS/Pharmacy
3. Walgreen's
4. Longs Drugs
5. Rite Aid
6. Brooks-Eckerd
7. Duane Reade

And for mail order:

1. Caremark
2. PharmaCare Management Services
3. Medco
4. Walgreen's Health Initiatives, Inc.
5. Express Scripts
6. PrecisionRx.com/WellPoint
7. CIGNA Pharmacy Management

The company also ranked pharmacy services at supermarkets, where Florida-based Publix was No. 1, and big-box stores, where Target fared best. For complete results, see the company's web site.

HA! HA! F*cking HA! I love karma/fate/yourmom. She's been such a good friend - like the time when the stuffy business dude gave me a huffed 'excuuuse me' while pushing past me and then tripped over his own feet into the large angry woman ahead of him. Yeah it's like that, but gooder!

UPDATE: Story is also posted via our friends at Consumerist, with kicky grandpa jpeg.

Wrathos Round-Up

They're just messing with me. I'm ready to binge eat and shave my head.

Instead of my usual short story of retail hell, I thought I would put a few people on notice:

* Lady at the salad tosser counter. I know you didn't ask for beets and I know he tried to trick you into taking the beets by pretending he didn't understand you. But, I'm not your friend. I will not help you with your beet issue. Don't look to me for support, b/c if i don't get my turkey/bleu cheese/cranberry/pine nut salad in record time, you're dealing with the business end of my skechers. Oh and I hate your "shushushuh" laugh; Find a new one.

* 98lb. girl at the post office. Look, I'm with ya, that line suuuucks. But do you really need to put all your materials together while shuffling in line? Do you really need to be in line to put a box together, tape said box bottom, fill with miscellaneous items in plastic grocery bag, squat on floor to fill out crappy 99cent precious moments card, use teeth to rip more packing tape, squeeze box with thighs (soliciting growth from all pants within 10 ft), then lazily kick box down the line for a half hour, all emo and shit? Stop it. PS: I like your gold bag.

* {blank} online store {redacted b/c boyfriend hasn't gotten his birthday present and frankly? Not ruining it for you guys.}
Listen, B.O.S.: I know, get what you pay for and yeah, I saved a couple of bucks ordering from you. But if you're calling me to check whether my bank's address is the same as the address on the order form I'd filled out Friday....because you're concerned that someone had stolen my card....don't you think you should WAIT to take that money out of my bank account? You asshole. So, when I call you on it, don't get all "Ma'am" on me. Because I'm right.

* 973-322-2312. What kind of number are you anyway? Yeah, I had the wrong number and thought I was calling my landlord. But when I ask for "Mario," just say "you have the wrong number." You know he's not there, you know I don't have the right digits. So, why put me on hold and then come back for clarification and then hold again and then back to your manager who FINALLY tells me my mistake? Wait, you're an emergency room at St. Barnabas? Alright, pass. For now.

* Ass Family, party of 4. First of all, shout out to Daisy Buchanan, who'd recommended "Music & Lyrics." Bravo. Bravo, In. Deed. Anyway: Ass Family. Movie's at 4:10, which means the previews start at 4:10, so by my count you've decided to mosey on in at around 4:30 and sit in front of me. AND TALK LOUDLY TO DECIDE WHO WANTS TO SPLIT A DIET COKE? "I'll go get it!" offers Pa. "No, you sit, the kids will go," suggest Maw. "Chortlegibberishfuckheadmeh," go the kids as Pa slllloooowwwly makes his way to the aisle and out to concessions. I get that it's a matinée. But, Fools, I'm there b/c I want to avoid fuck heads like you. Oh, am I being hypersensitive. NO, because your loud ass came back with two WATERS, which you know is going to piss off the teens. And sure enough, they're whining about your beverage choice and while you're explaining the economics behind concession stands, I'm missing Hugh Grant's formulaic stammer! Sit. the. fuck. down.

This Just In: Faux-Yolk Edition

"This Just In" features stories sent in by you guys.
Keep 'em coming!

From "Ernestina":

Husband in car with sleeping 3 year old. Long day of Irish Pride spent at the St Patty's Parade in Staten Island. Toes and fingers frozen, contacts suctioned to my eyeballs, all I need is a few quick things to hold us over until our monthly Supermarket Sweep this week. Soda, Milk, Pop Tarts and Cereal.

Grab my loot in 4 minutes, only one person on line--YAYA...

.............7 minutes later.............

I'm sitting on my basket of loot because I am tired and stuck behind a woman who is not only 100, not only wearing one of those "knit caps with the wig attached", but who is buying completely useless shit. If she was purchasing things like heart medication, band aids, you know, I could wait.

But this list is SO RANDOM and she piles everything on the 1 x 1 counter in a HUGE PYRAMID which eventually topples and takes another 7 minutes to pick the crap up.

SAID CRAP:

1 box of mac and cheese
1 box of chocolate covered liqueur cherries that looks ABOUT 25 years old with dust on it
2 jugs of windshield wiper fluid ??????????? (Please get off the road old lady)
14 Cadbury chocolate eggs with the gross, yellow faux-yolk
1 Case of water
1 stuffed bunny that sings when you squeeze it which she keeps squeeeeeeeeeeeeezing.
1 box of baby wipes (don't want to know)
1 lollipop
1 dishtowel
1 sponge
rope (not kidding)

Just when the end looks near, she pulls out 150,000 coupons from her pocket.

Then I hear the most glorious words over the loudspeaker:

"I'm open in Cosmetics! Please step over!"

THANK YOU JESUS.

15 minutes gone.....when I get back to the car, husband and child, both asleep in running car.

SIGH.

This Just In...Eckerd

"This Just In" features stories sent in by you guys.
Keep 'em coming!

From "Mooch Rex":

Call me curious, but when Eckerd decides they need to hire some folks to help mind the store, do they start by combing through primordial ooze for applicants?

Perfect example. I'm at my local Eckerd, which is located on the 6th level of hell, just past the adulterers. I had an odd craving for Coca-Cola Blak (Which is cooler than regular coke because they dropped the “C” out of “Black”. Hip! Cool!) So, there I am, purchase in hand, standing in the ridiculously long line as usual. Random thought: Y'know It's always a marvel to me how Eckerd always has the great sense to make sure that as LONG as the line gets they MAKE sure only ONE employee mans a register. Must have been in the contract ol' Scratch worked up for them. (Ol’ Scratch is another term for Satan. And before you ask, Yes, I worship the Devil.)
So, the single celled organism working the register, with her fat mouth hangin’ slack and her big meaty “Will there be rabbits on the farm, George??” hands clumsily molesting the items folks bring up, unenthusiastically calls upon the next person in line.

Now the woman in front of me was old. Really old. I'm talking formed out of the first sludge of the earth old. The ancient one shambles up to the counter and states that she'd love a pack of cigarettes for purchase. Now, all of us people trapped in line can tell she's been a LONG-TIME smoker. I suppose it was the small visual and audio clues that tipped us off. The white hair of age now a lovely yellowish tinge from the billowing clouds of nicotine smoke, the brownish teeth that looked like she ate a bowl of tootsie rolls without coming up for air and the throaty rasp of a once feminine voice now three octaves lower. Hell I’m a man and I don't even have that deep a voice.
The lummox behind the counter, and this is NO bullshit, asks to see her I.D.

HER I.D. PEOPLE. Would you card God? Hell no. You just know that fucker is OLD.

The Ancient one stared back at the Lummox like she just took a dump in a box of cigarettes and demanded she smoke them.

I settled back to enjoy the show.

"You're joking, right?" Oldie rasp/chuckled.

"No, I've got to see your I.D.” Said the Lummox “To make sure I'm allowed to sell you cigarettes. To make sure you’re legal"

Holy fuckin’ shit.

A massive sucking of teeth erupted from the line behind me, which if I had to visualize with a word, would sound very close to "TCCHH". The line which had been about ten people deep when I found my place, had snaked so far back it went past the photo counter. Methuselah was furious, and really, why wouldn't she be? When you've experienced the extinction of the dinosaurs AND lived through two world wars, I'm sure all you'd want to do is just chill out with your pack of smokes and take the edge off of life for a bit.

"The Mummy Returns" demanded to see the manager.

Having had my fill of the floor show, I put down my bottle of Coca-Cola Blak (Rad!) and I walked out. No small amount of bottled sugar water was worth waiting in that line to witness the battle of wills between a woman who's intelligence can be trumped by a brick, and a woman who most likely kept a Stegosaurus as a pet. I walked over to my local grocery store and bought a delicious red bull instead, thankful it gave me the wings I would need to fly back out of Eckerd hell.

Are you F*&#ing Kidding Me?: New Jersey Transit

First in a series of special, inner monologue accounts that make us visibly turn plaid.

9:19pm Ok. Catching the 9:29. Ready to-waitaminute. Ugh. What is up with my stomach? Ugh, yeah I do NOT feel good. Need Tums or something...note to self - no eating chinese within 10 blocks of Penn Station.

Maybe I'll just run to the ladies before I go...godDAMN it smells like crotch in here. Abort.

9:28pm Alright. I just need to get on this train and in half an hour I can be home, take some mylanta and get into be-

ATTENTION PASSENGERS. PLEASE STAND BY FOR GATE ANNOUNCEMENT DUE TO AN EARLIER INCIDENT WITH ANOTHER TRAIN. WE ARE CURRENTLY WAITING FOR EQUIPMENT AND WILL ANNOUNCE YOUR GATE SHORTLY.

Awwww F!

Ok. I can do this.

9:45pm Alright. Track 15. Lessgo. I'd better sit near the bathroom, just in case.

9:46pm I immediately regret this decision.

9:48pm ATTENTION PASSENGERS: WE WILL BE MOVING SHORTLY. THE CREW IS ON ANOTHER TRACK AND ONCE THEY BOARD THE TRAIN WE WILL BE ON OUR WAY.

On another track? Really? Didn't they get the memo? We all heard it: Track 15. Ugh idiots.

9:52pm ATTENTION PASSENGERS: THE CREW IS NOW ON BOARD. ONCE THEY DO A BRAKE TEST, WE WILL BE MOVING. THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND WE APOLOGIZE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE.

9:55pm Yeah yeah yeah off we go. Alright, hang in there. Eat another Tums and you'll feel better. Wait-why are we stopping. We're in the tunnel, so let's go. Oh, it must be one of those 'only one track is open' deals. Eh, happens all the time.

MRPHTENTION SCHMASSENGERS: WEEH FRILL NOCH BEEN NEKING DEE SCHREEVESHUCUS KUNJECTION DOO SCHRING WAKE. ZEE KOSTUMER SHERVIX MEMBER ISH FOO-UN-FUU-SHIX-EAT-TU-WUN-DOO-WUN-DOO.

Am I having a stroke? What the hell did he just say? Yeah buddy in front of me, I have no fucking idea. Oh good, here comes the conductor.

FOLKS, WE'RE NOT MAKING THE SECAUCUS CONNECTIONS TO SPRING LAKE. NO, SIR, I UNDERSTAND WE'RE ONLY FIVE FEET OUT OF PENN, WE CANNOT MOVE THE TRAIN BACK. NO SIR, I AM NOT HOLDING YOU HOSTAGE. SIR, WE WILL BE MOVING SHORTLY. FOLKS, IF YOU HAVE ANY COMPLAINTS, PLEASE CALL THE CUSTOMER SERVICE LINE.

Oh sweet and savory Jesus. Alright, well at least we're still stopping in Glen Ridge. You know, I'm still not feeling-ugh...I'd better just get it over with...is that a fucking Cup O'Noodles in the toilet?

Pass.

So, finally moving. Fine. Ok. Just make it to Glen Ridge. Five stops. Only five-

::click click::

::click::

What the fuck is that?

::click click click::

::click::

Oh for fuckssake -Sir are you cutting your toenails?!

~fin~

Overheard in the DR

From OverheardInNewYork.com.

#1: This place is terrible.
#2: I know.
#1: I hate Duane Reade.
#2: Yeah, me too.
#1: And yet I love it... it's like an abuse relationship you just can't get over.
#2: Yeah.
#1: Everytime I come in here, I see all these people who are like, I really don't want to be here right now. [Pause. Dionne Warwick is playing.] Must be the music.

--Duane Reade, 14th & 3rd

Live in the now!!!

Once, I was vacation with my then boyfriend and his family. Lovely people. We took a break from the beach and went to town to get some subs (hoagies, grinders, heroes, shut up.). Once arriving at Subway, I'd soon realized that these baby boomers had never been to a Subway chain. Really? Honestly.

They stood there, mouth agape at all the choices available. They spent about 15 minutes discussing the merits of splitting a footlong, since they both like turkey, but maybe you should get the meatball and I'll have a bite and then you can have some of the turkey oh but wait you don't like peppers can they do half peppers?

Soon after, I researched flame throwers online.

But, let's face it. They live outside of the city, cook most of their meals at home and were brought up in a "going out to eat is a special occasion" family. Gotta give them some slack.

However.

The person to whom I am not offering slack is the New Yorker who doesn't know the ordering system at Starbucks.

Tall. Grande. Venti. Hell, I'll take Small, Medium and Large.

But don't give me "what sizes do you have" bullshit or the "can I get a big coffee" or the "oh wait - do you have anything that's not too strong?" or "do you have anything smaller"?"

Or..."Can I get a GRANDEE?"

Fuck you. You live here. Since you made the decision to emerge from your bomb shelter, why not do a little research before coming to the busiest, angriest breakfast spot in the city?

And don't give me the "I'm not a regular" excuse. You go to a foreign country, you learn the languange. You live in the city, you learn the code. Grab a coffee-to-english dictionary or fucking step to the side while I order.

Lying Liars at Duane Reade

I fucking hate being a hostage to Duane Reade. I hate that they’re constantly rearranging the store. I hate that they have 13 Going on 30 prominently displayed next to the cash register for no reason other than to tempt me (Private to DR management: Price it at $5, and you’ve got a deal.). I hate that when there are three people in line in front of me, I know I’m going to be waiting no less than 15 minutes. I hate that when you drop off a prescription, they tell you to come back later in the day to pick it up, and when you do, you’re informed that they don’t carry that medication. WHY CAN’T YOU TELL ME THAT WHEN I DROP IT OFF IN THE MORNING? Why Duane Reade? Do you get off on wasting my time? Do you, faceless cashiers, enjoy taunting me and then blankly staring back at me when I get pissed like I’m the asshole?

While the above prescription story is true, it was a while ago, and my anger has mellowed to a low level boil at this point. Other indignities have followed. For example, not 15 minutes ago I walked into the store to purchase eye drops and deodorant. I had a $5 rebate thing that I got for using their “club card” (Why can’t you just give everyone the same discounts? Why must I hand over my phone number and e-mail address to get a quarter off a toothbrush? Stop wondering! That way lies madness…). I did not, however, have the club card on me. I stopped at the counter and asked if I could still use the rebate. I was greeted with (surprise!) a blank stare. It was endless. After a solid 20 seconds passed, I was beginning to think I was being either crazy or unreasonable. Irritation level: Purple (equivalent to a phone conversation with my mother that goes on ten minutes too long). Finally the cashier says, and this is a direct quote, “Yes.” Irritation level: mauve (Mom buys me lunch). So I’m off to pick up my purchases and return to the line. That same line. One person in front of me is buying cigarettes with his girlfriend. Turns out girlfriend thinks the cigarettes will be cheaper at the airport because apparently airports have all the best discounts. I’ll remember that the next time I pay $8.37 for a gin and tonic at La Guardia. Does this guy say, “Fuck off, I want a cigarette now, so I’m buying them here, and by nagging me about this now, you’re holding up the line.” Of course not! Instead they debate the issue.

BF: Are you sure?
GF: Positive.
BF: Really? Cause I really need some smokes, and I’m gonna be pissed if they’re more.
GF: What are you gonna do? Break up with me?
BF: Maybe.

Needless to say, I hate them both. I have no idea if he ended up buying them or not. I was too busy praying for a piano to fall out of the sky and land on my head. Irritation level: burgundy (Mom wants to know when I’m going to have a baby.).

And then I’m finally, finally, FINALLY at the front of the line with the original cashier. I try to pay for my stuff with my rebate and am told (surely you’ve guessed this by now) that I need the club card to use it. Irritation level: neon green (Mom gives the son of one of her friends my phone number.). I asked why she had told me otherwise when I first entered the store, but it was already a lost cause. I stormed out without eye drops or deodorant. I probably could have just paid for them, but I was mid-storm out when I realized that, which means I’ll have to go back later today.

And I was so happy about that rebate when I got it. I knew those douchebags would find a way to ruin that for me too. Congratulations Duane Reade. You win again.

Why I Hate You...

First in a series, this award goes out to a special customer who's irritated us enough to bring commuter sweats to a boil.


Why I Hate You...Networking Starbucks Customer

Yes "Ted," we see you. You've got the attention you'd asked for. We see you as you loudly proclaim your need for a quad latte because you only need 2-3 hours sleep MAX. We stand in awe before you when you turn to us behind you with a wink and assert that you need your "fix." We bow down to the ballsitude you show when you squeeze your self into that corner and reach into the forbidden barista zone, just to grab your own lid.

However, we will NOT be checking out your new gym around the corner that "blows the big boys out of the water." We do NOT want to watch you shake hands with every barista:

"HiI'mTedandyournameis"

"Hihowareyoui'mtedhowlonghaveyoubeenhere?"

"Hehyousureknowhowtoworkthatsteamerdon'thurtyourselfnow"

Please stop promising them skin care products from your girlfriend's job...unless you actually show up with the stuff and give us some.

Sir, it's 7:45 in the am. I shouldn't even be out of bed. I shouldn't be sober. Please don't network with the baristas. They don't care about your gym, your squat weight, nor your penchant for 'extra room.' They just want your free shit and their free coffee.

Ted, that's it.
I hate you.