I Wish I Knew How to Quit You, Rite Aid

I consider myself an invested consumer. I feel strongly about brands. I LOVE Chobani. I LOVE Dunkin’ Donuts. I LOVE Vita Coco coconut water. I’m pretty easy to get on your bandwagon. Advertising people must love me. Do right by me and have a good product and I’m yours. But do me wrong and I am done forever. In this case, Rite Aid has done me wrong many, many times. Yet somehow I still keep coming back. I don’t know why.  I can’t explain my actions. I think part of it is laziness. I don’t want to go through the hassle of switching all my prescriptions over to a new pharmacy. Honestly, I’m not even entirely sure how to do it. The other part is the drive thru. Kinney Drugs doesn’t have one and I value that aspect of the pharmacy. But, seriously. I wish I knew how to quit you, Rite Aid. Because y’all are RIDICULOUSLY BAD at drugging.

I’m on a prescription for my mild to moderately bad skin. Without this little discount card the stuff costs $800 bucks. Must be made of gold or meth or something. The folks at the Aid didn’t tell me that the card hadn’t been activated, so I’m sitting in the drive thru and the girl at the pharmacy casually goes “Okay, your total is 925 (or whatever)” dollars. Um…excuse me? For the past week I’ve been transferring the same $25 back and forth between checking and savings so I can clear my car payment. I am not the kind of person who can drop 900 bones on skin cream. I explained this to her. She tried to work on the discount card. I sat in the drive thru for twenty minutes and irritated everyone. She then threw (not handed, threw) the car at me and told me I had to come back later. I went bonkers. I called, tweeted, and e-mailed every Rite Aid contact person I could find. This is the 21st century, baby. That’s how it’s done. The next day I got a call from the district manager who told me that store is known for behavior problems (um? Like that bad kid in my fourth grade class?) and basically assured me I would always be treated like Kate Middleton whenever I entered their store.

I believed him and stayed. Foolishly. Stupidly. They were nice to me for quite a while. The girl who threw the card at my face stayed away and gave me dirty looks when she saw me coming. They all know my name now. I thought life was good and things had gotten better. I was only slightly embarrassed that I had caused such a scene.

Then they gave me the wrong medication. This is America and I could throw a frivolous lawsuit their way, but instead I calmly returned the medication. They look terrified. They could see the fire in my eyes. It was an honest mistake, but seriously? The wrong medication? Your job is to give people medicine. You could have poisoned me. Granted the chances of that happening are slim to none, but still. That got my goat.

The final straw occurred when I tried to pick up my medication one last time. I waited in line for twenty minutes. Not five, not ten, but twenty minutes. I had just worked a long day and had received several passive aggressive e-mails and was already annoyed. Also, I was hungry and had to pee. And I went inside the store too! I got off my behind and stopped being lazy and went inside! I should be rewarded. Face palm. Rite Aid fail. We’re done here.

Those occurrences, mixed in with the fact that their staff is generally rude (before I instilled the fear of God in their hearts), has made me realize that I need to cut the cord. Rip the Band Aid off, if you will. Life is too short to get cards thrown at your face and get the wrong medicine. I think that’s a good lesson for life in general. There are many options for everything in life. Friends, relationships, restaurants. You don’t need to stand for bad treatment. You gotta fight for your right to party (and get good treatment). And RIP MCA. That’s all for now.

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