Be-boop

Another “ain’t technology wonderful!?” rumination:
Unlike many people my age, I only have two prescriptions — three if you count the Flonase (for hay-fever).
That’s because we stopped a calcium-blocker blood-pressure medication over a year ago, because my neurologist suggested it might be the cause of my dizzy-spells (which were why I retired).
He also referred me to a Physical-Therapist, and she suggested getting back into shape was a far better way of controlling blood-pressure and cholesterol — an idea that we received enthusiastically after my bout on a cardiologist treadmill for a stress-test. I was left wishing I could access a treadmill.
And so we set about blasting the Physical-Therapy’s various exercise machines ... so much, I was straining their machines; so they began fishing for a way to dump me.
I inadvertently gave them their excuse when I mentioned a patient of their’s, who happened to be a public figure, in my blog.
So we switched to the Canandaigua YMCA.
So far I’ve lost about 30-35 pounds, and have had to start buying smaller clothes; probably at least 10 pounds at the YMCA.
The pharmacy where I get these prescriptions is a RiteAid in nearby Honeoye Falls.
It has a wonderful after-hours phone-machine for refilling prescriptions without talking to a human; great for a stroke-survivor with wonky speech. I have the number memorized in my cellphone.
“Welcome to RiteAid’s automated prescription refill service. If you know the number of your prescription, please enter ‘one’ now.”
Boop.
“Using the Touch-Tone keypad, please enter your prescription-number now.”
Beep, boop, beep, boop. Beep, boop, beep, boop.....
Suddenly their machine barges in before I finish.
“‘Eight’ is not a valid prescription-number.”
For crying out loud; I’m not 44. I can’t text in a prescription-number at the speed-of-light. I’m working with keys the size of match heads.
“Please enter prescription-number.”
Be-boop, be-boop, be-boop, be-boop.
“Please enter a telephone-number should the pharmacist have a question.”
Be-boop, be-boop, be-boop, be-boop.......
Again the machine butts in: “‘Eight’ is not a valid telephone-number.”
Be-boop-be-boop-be-boop-be-boop-be-boop!
“Please leave a message for the pharmacist after the tone — SCREEEEE!”
What!? That’s only for Granny.
Who knows if the prescription refilled?
Face-to-face with the minions at Rite-Aid; the snarling teenybopper who mans the pharmacy-counter for minimum-wage.
Ain’t technology wonderful!?

I had a stroke October 26, 1993. It left me with slightly compromised speech, and a tendency to stutter.

“44” (“Agent-44”) is my brother-in-Delaware’s onliest son Tom. He recently graduated college as a computer-engineer.