You need my WHAT?

I’ve managed to go and get myself a really craptastic cold and cough.  The cough is bronchitis and the bronchitis is the reason I don’t smoke any more.  I’m blaming the school system and the parents who send their sick children to school.  Said children then infect my children with germs which they thoughtfully bring home to me.  My nose is simultaneously stopped up and running although I’ve never quite worked out how it can do both at the same time.  I’m certain my head is going to explode due to the pressure inside and when I cough I sound like a barking seal.  Lovely, isn’t it?  

But all of that isn’t the reason for my post today, well, not exactly.  You see I dragged my spectacularly craptastic feeling ass out of bed today and I went to the local Wally world.  Even on my worst day I can go to the Wally world and feel a bit better about myself in comparison to the rest of my local humanity.  You all do it...don’t judge.  Anyway, once at the Wally World I make my way to the cold and flu medicine aisle.  I decide that I need some multi-symptom maximum relief, knock this shit out, kind of medicine.  You know, the type that is chock full of pseudophedrine and like 10% alcohol?  Yes, I know that really doesn’t exist but if you take enough Nyquil and Sudafed multi-symptom you get the same effect.  

So I get my card for my Sudafed (because of course they don’t sell it over the counter any more, you have to go to the pharmacy counter and sign for it) and my bottle of Cherry Nyquil and stand in line.  And stand in line.  And stand in line.  Seriously it really took that long.  When I finally get to the counter the girl starts looking at me really oddly.  I had her my Sudafed card and my Nyquil.  She calls her manager over.  

Oh goody.  This is where the fun part starts.  She whispers to her manager while looking at me out of the corner of her eye like I am some jacked up meth-head with my bloodshot eyes, rudolph red fucking nose and my seal cough.  To me it seemed like it should have been plenty evident that I was sick.  But no, the manager asks me....‘Ma’am (first mistake - I’m nearly 40 but damn) what do you need this for?”  I didn’t say anything for a few moments because I was pretty sure I was hallucinating.  Who would ask that?  After searching my mind I came up with an appropriate response....”Excuse me?”  

“The medicine, why do you need it?” the manager who might have been 23 asks me.  At this point I’m thinking of a dozen different answers (all of them sarcastic) and trying not to go all redneck white chick on this little girl.  My response was a perfectly timed and mightily powerful sneeze that I didn’t bother covering.  “I’m sick.”  Judging from the look on their face you would have thought that I had infected them with one of those zombie viruses. 

Still eyeing me rather suspiciously, the clerk rings up my order.  I can hear the people behind me getting irritable, shifting their weight from one foot to another as they stand in line, waiting.  So before taking my money she brings out the psuedophedrine clipboard and tells me to fill it out.  Which I do. I print and sign my name and write down my Driver’s License number.  Then the little bitch asks to see my license.  WHAT???  I’m buying cold medicine for crying in the rain!  So I take a deep breath and begin to dig in my purse.  I realize at that point that my license is in my coat pocket on the peg at home.  I tell her that and she informs me that she cannot sell me the Sudafed or the Nyquil because I don’t have it.  At this point I am about 2 seconds from screaming at the top of my lungs and going over the counter to throttle her.  The only thing that stopped me was the idea that my cold would feel so much worse sitting in the pokey than in my warm bed surrounded by puffy pillows.  Not to mention I was afraid that if I caused a scene it would confirm for them that I indeed was a criminal set to start my own meth lab with a single box of Sudafed while getting drunk on Nyquil. 

For the record I have neither the recipe for making meth or the inclination to do so and I resented the hell out of the fact that this little flucktard who couldn’t have been more than 19 years old and her ‘I’m in my first managerial role, position of power and someone shoved a large stick up my ass manager’ were denying me relief from my cold symptoms.  Realizing this was not a battle I would win, I sighed heavily and hissed “Fine” and stalked off.  

I did get relief for my cold symptoms, by the way.  From my local pharmacy where they actually sort of know me and are pretty sure that my plus size self is a lot more interested in cooking food than cooking meth.  I’m actually feeling better than I have in a couple of days but that it probably because I’m wired on psuedophedrine and drunk on Nyquil.  Yeah, right....

I know that the lovely ladies working at the Wally World are just doing their job and it is law because of the war on drugs.  And I have to show my ID at my kids' elementary school to help keep them safe.  But it seems like every time we turn around we have to present our  photo for something else.  I suppose I should offer my apologies, this incident today made my inner liberal show.  It really shouldn't be this hard to do the easy stuff.  

What's your take?