Customer service in the afterlife.

I've come to expect poor customer service nowadays. From the never-present waiter, to the Sprint representative who couldn't tell me why they still sold the HTC Touch phone when the fact that it doesn't ring is one of their "known issues." Yes, I've come to expect lousy treatment like this, and the other day, Duane Read didn't disappoint.

They "lost" my prescriptions. When I pressed for more answers, the girl behind the counter giggled "I don't usually work here, I don't know what to do." There she was in her white lab coat, which when teamed with her skill set, barely qualified her to work behind a Clinique counter, let alone a pharmacy's. One of my most used phrases seems to be "let me to speak to the manager." It's a demand so inextricably linked to my life that I'll likely have it etched into my tombstone.