It's not only clients, or potential clients, that wander in to a pharmacy. On a regular basis, we see maintenance men, building security, and computer technicians. Unfortunately, sometimes we get the lemon of the bunch.
One day, a computer technician was called in to take a look at our computer tower. This tower had been generating enough heat to melt the polar ice caps, and had rendered the pharmacy's air conditioner completely useless. The technician said that he would clean out the tower, which should take care of the problem.
This computer is old. The tower is bigger than modern computer towers, and it had been a very long time since it was last cleaned. There is a lot of dust that accumulates in a computer tower, and when he removed the cover for the tower, it looked as though dust bunnies had been furiously copulating and reproducing in the tower.
The technician takes out his one cleaning device: one of those spray cans with the tiny nozzle at the end. This device is great for cleaning out the tiny spaces in keyboards, as it propels the dust out of the tiny cracks, instead of a vacuum cleaner, which would be unable to get the dust out of small spaces.
However, this device forces dust outwards, but the dust is then free to fly out in any direction it pleases. This is fine for small appliances that are not producing dust bunnies at an alarming rate, but when you can only see dust, and are completely unable to distinguish any of the mechanical parts of the computer beneath, it's a whole different story.
The technician sprays right into the heart of the computer tower, creating a cloud of dust that could rival a sandstorm. My colleague proffers the pharmacy's handheld vacuum cleaner, which would at least take care of the large chunks of dust, then the spray can could be used to clean out the smaller spaces.
Of course, the computer technician ignores it.
The technician continues spraying directly in to the tower, producing cloud after cloud of dust. The volume of dust is beginning to resemble a mushroom cloud, and we're all choking and sneezing. The vacuum is nearby, and we've even told him that it might be a better idea to vacuum at least a bit before spraying, but he continues to ignore us. After all, what would we know about cleaning dust?
The lab is nothing but a dense, grey cloud. It's in our eyes, our mouths, and all over our clothes. Chunks of dust are flying out now, landing on every surface it finds.
The vacuum cleaner is propped up next to the technician, who ignores it like a child who has gained possession of a lollipop, and is being offered broccoli to replace it.
Our polite smile are all that we have to mask our annoyance and anger, and even that is fading as the urge to shove the spray can down the technician's throat grows with every spray in to the computer tower.
Finally, the technician steps back from the computer tower, looking proudly at the tower as though it is his finest accomplishment. He, too, is sneezing and choking on the tornado of dust that has yet to fully settle. He is grey from the dust, like the Pillsbury doughboy after rolling in piles of soot. The floor matches him perfectly, and the pattern in the carpet has been completely hidden by the chunks of dust that have made their home in its fibers. We're trying our best not to throttle him, as he packs up his equipment, satisfied that it is a job well done.
"There was a lot of dust in there," he says, as though we hadn't noticed the clouds of dense grey dust that has yet to settle somewhere on the floor. I'm still choking and sneezing, while he saunters out of the pharmacy, hopefully never to return.
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