Pharmacy. Jim Plagakis. Pharmacist

An hour ago, I stood at the customer service desk of a department store and waited while three women, who spoke a language I did not recognize, returned a shopping cart full of bedroom goods. Pillows, sheets, blankets. They were, I would guess, not native Americans.

My grandparents were immigrants. They all came funneled through Ellis Island from four points in Europe. Spain, Switzerland, Finland and Greece. None of them spoke English right off the boats. They brought their treasures with them. A small suitcase, the clothes on their backs and whatever money they had saved. None of them were highly skilled professionals. I’m telling you that because I think that immigrants are okay.

The three women at the counter acted like they were afraid of being cheated by the store or they were out to cheat the store. I just know that I had to wait while they finished up their business. I thought to myself, “These women certainly aren’t acting like they are Americans.”

Last week, I got a copy from a pharmacist in Illinois. He had a thick accent and a name that indicated that he was a Bengali from India, probably Mumbai.

After all of the business was done, he said, “What are you doing the fourth?”

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“Pardon me?” I didn’t understand.

“The fourth of July,” he said, “Independence Day.

“Oh, that fourth,” I said. I hadn’t realized. It had crept up on me. “I don’t know, man. Probably have a picnic on the beach or something.” The fourth of July had become just another day off. I was not really charmed by it.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“All of it. A parade in the morning, a town picnic in the square, a baseball game.”

“Who are you going to see play?”

“Me. I’m playing. I pitch for the Red Birds. I was a cricketer in India. I threw a wicked googly.”

“Maybe I’ll go to the fireworks,” I said.

“Oh, for sure. I will take my wife and kids for the first time. This will be their first fourth. I am a citizen now and am sponsoring them.” There was a lilt to his voice. Like a man who had lived a long time with his family half a world away.

“Well, I wish you a great fourth,” I said, thinking, “He is certainly acting like an American.”

“The same to you, my friend, the same to you.”

After that phone conversation, I made it a point to find out about the Fourth of July parade in Galveston. My daughter-in-law, Ivana, has been here for only six weeks. My son-in-law met her in Afghanistan. They both worked for KBR. Their six month old son is an American citizen, born in Macedonia, with a USA Passport. That leaves Ivana on the outside.. for a little while… Frosty (my son-in-law’s real name) is sponsoring her and has hired an attorney for the job.

Next year, Ivana will be a Yankee, but this year will be her first fourth. We will make it memorable. We’ll do the parade, the picnic, the beach and the fireworks. People will say about Jim Plagakis, “He’s certainly acting like an American.”

Winston Churchill said that success is moving from failure to failure with enthusiasm. Elvis, Michael, Dr. Suess and Henry Ford all failed dramatically. Michael was cut from his high school basketball team. “Green eggs and ham” was rejected 23 times before a publisher said, “What the hell. What can I lose?” Elvis got an “F” in music and Henry Ford went bankrupt twice. Their vision was clear. It just took the rest of us a while to see what they saw. That dream of owning your own pharmacy? Protect it. Guard it. Wait until the time is right. Don’t ever give it up.

There are “self-corrective” forces at work in American pharmacy. Pharmacists are “pushing back” and asking that there be changes. After many years of never having an uninterrupted meal break, I now work for a major chain two days a week. My shifts are eight hours and I take 30 minutes to eat. This is routine policy. Nobody bothers me. The forces at work may be subtle, but they make any and all efforts to continue any repressive schemes very difficult. “Self-corrective”. That is how it should be.

There was a time not long ago that life could be very difficult for a single or divorced mother who was the sole support of her family. Not long ago, the only job Sandra Day O’Connor could get at law school graduation was the job of legal secretary. The days of the Age of Pisces is over. It is the Age of Aquarius and women will take their spots near the top of the pyramid. You are a pharmacist. You make enough money that if the bastard cheats on you, you can kick his ass out and never miss a beat.

The real battle is conquering yourselves. Think about it.

Don’t smoke. Don’t drink too much. Don’t text while you are driving. Do find a sport or exercise. I suggest yoga. These are your “yamas” and “Niyamas”. When you get together in ten years, take a look. You will know who took my advice.

Be present all the time. Stay wide awake. I think that you can do a whole day of pharmacy and never notice what is going on around you. You are the pharmacist. When that little old black lady who still believes that her red, white and blue Medicare card will get free prescriptions starts to cry from desperation, it is your job, not the technician’s job, to go out and serve her with all the compassion you have in your heart. Keep a soft heart, an open heart. A hard heart is very dangerous.

Get the hell out of the world of virtual reality a couple hours a week. Go to the beach and leave the cell phone at home. Virtual reality may seem to be huge, but, trust me, the real world is infinitely larger and infinitely more interesting. Drop to your knees in the surf and feel the waves surround you. Experience the power of nature and, please, take your kids with you. An hour or two , sitting on a bed of cedar needles, during a rain, in a hollow cedar tree in a Pacific Northwest forest, silently with your ten year old daughter, waiting for Raven, the creator, to appear is sublime. The bonds that grow from a silent experience will never be broken. Raven, by the way, did appear that day.

Just remember that the profession of pharmacy is fine. It is perfect just to way it is. It is the JOB of practicing pharmacy that can be a problem at times.

Of course, you will have people who don’t know, come to you and say, “Get real!” They will want you to march to the same drum beat that everyone else marches to. Very dangerous. You are young. You may think that you want to stretch out and do it your way. That is very good. I just have one thing to say:

IT IS BEST IF YOU RIDE THE HORSE IN THE DIRECTION IT IS GOING. AT LEAST UNTIL YOU GET YOUR OWN HORSE

Abdul, on The MESSAGE BOARD, said that a Florida pharmacist called him a “raghead” and that he was made fun of at the holiday party because Muslims do not drink alcohol. That is not a dignified way for professionals to act, making fun of Abdul like little children. Grow up. H1B visa olders are very important to pharmacy.

Bad things can happpen though. Listen to this.

I have absolutely no argument with the idea of “foreign” pharmacists working in the United States. I have spent hectic days working with pharmacists from India and The Philippines. Without them, I could have gone under. The Filipinos are much more fun to talk with than the Indians. Much more laid back, laissez faire in Manila. Much more ready for a little amusement. I would repeat Sujinder’s joke, A guy named Singh goes into a bar in Delhi, but it was only his accent that made it funny.

Assimilation of pharmacists from other countries is a fact of our profession. They can’t help it that we cannot staff every pharmacy department on our own. They qualify for the sought after high trained professional visa that leads to the green card.

I admire them. Coming half way around the world. To an unfamiliar culture with a language that has two spellings for words like plain. They are courageous, I believe. I moved from Ohio to San Francisco in 1965 and the culture shock was tough enough and I spoke perfect English. In 2007, immigrants are helping to keep pharmacy going. Sometimes, however, you notice that something is out of whack. They just do not know all of the dance moves.

This guy’s name was Rasheed or Brasheed or some sheed. I asked him to repeat his name twice. I am okay with pharmacists with any accent at all. I do, however, expect some experience on their end. Knowing and complying with pharmacy law, doing a final Rx check, filling prescriptions, counseling (How do some of these accents manage counseling?) and following company policy are not all that it takes. Get this:

Rasheed called from a Super Store pharmacy for a transfer. I worked for an independent and I was the one who answered the phone. I immediately went to the terminal and looked up the Rx. My conventional manner of handling these requests is to make attending to the needs of a fellow pharmacist a high priority. Come on, you guys. It is tough enough out there. Getting transfers is an unpleasant task as it is. To actually believe the middle management party line that a CVS pharmacist is in a death battle with the Walgreens pharmacist is laughable.

I gave Rasheed all of the information required and then said, “Bad news. There are no refills left. You’ll have to call.”

“The patient said there were no refills,” Rasheed related, “She said that you always call the doctor and get refills. Will you call and get refills so I can fill the prescription.”

GOINK! DISCONNECT! WHAT IS WRONG HERE?

“Ah … Rasheed … How long have you been practicing pharmacy in the United States?”

Silence, then, “Long enough.”

“I don’t think so, Rasheed. I don’t call the doctor for you. You call the doctor yourself. That is the protocol, Rasheed.”

Another silence, then, “Are you sure?”

“Trust me, Rasheed. You are fortunate that I am the one who you made that ridiculous request of. I like you, Rasheed. I happen to think that immigrants and highly trained professional visa holders are important for pharmacy.”

Think. With no more Rasheeds, the workload whirlpool could become dizzying

I continued, “You could have gotten a pharmacist with a much redder neck than mine. He would have bored you a brand new rear end.”

“What? What does that mean?” Rasheed said, confused. “Bore me a new what?”

Never mind, Rasheed. Pharmacy is like dancing, my friend. You just can’t walk onto the dance floor and expect to know the John Travolta moves without practice. You have to at least listen to the music, get your groove on.”

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“What does get groove on mean?”

“Never mind, Rasheed. You can get dancing lessons from any old American pharmacist. Ask your pharmacy manager for some coaching.

Rasheed said, “I AM the pharmacy manager.”