In the course of working in a pharmacy, I've encountered some strange people and their stranger questions. But nothing quite compares to one man I had the misfortune of encountering last summer.
It was the end of the summer, with lots of tourists doing their frenzied travelling before returning to their normal lives. A man wandered in to the pharmacy, and begins going up and down all of the aisles, scratching his head and looking extremely perplexed.
"Can I help you?" I asked, after noting that this man was staring at the vitamin wall in the same way one would likely regard an alien life form. Except that this man was scratching his head more than I assume most people would.
"Yes. I need something for head lice." Scratch, scratch. Now it makes sense.
Since the head lice shampoos are kept behind the lab counter, the man approached the counter, which happens to be dark wood.
"Which one of these is better?" Scratch, scratch, scratch.
I explain the difference between the products, and he reads the back of all of the boxes thoroughly, scratching his head the whole time. I've been standing as far away as possible, hoping that no little lice would jump in my direction. I was surprised that his scalp hadn't started bleeding yet, as he hadn't let up with his constant scratching.
Then I notice something unusual: a small, but distinct flurry of dust. I'm willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt and blame the drop ceiling for crumbling, but the dust is distinctly coming from the man, and landing in small, white flakes on the dark wood counter.
I'm trying very hard to not look disgusted, but it's taking all of my resolve to not tie his hands behind his back and push him out the door. Hell, he can have the lice shampoo for free! I'd have even thrown in a free bottle of dandruff shampoo, if it got him out the door and never to return!
"Yeah, I got these nasty buggers from the hotel I'm staying at," he says, as he continues to scratch his head. The small flury on the counter is becoming a storm.
"Oh, really? Which hotel?" I ask, so I can memorize the name of a hotel to never, ever stay at. He names one of the big hotels in the area, and I make a mental note to tell everyone I know to stay far, far away.
"Yeah, I checked in at noontime. What a dump." Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Noontime? Unless he spent the last couple of hours sleeping or rolling around on the floor, he likely didn't catch lice there. I try to politely smile and laugh, but it comes out as that awkward laugh that really means, "God, are you stupid."
He selects a lice shampoo and begins walking towards the cash, still scratching his head. Then he decides that he has a few more things to pick up, and then admires the toothpaste selection as his dandruff flies in every direction. He then stops at the front and chats with the cashier, likely about the hotel that gave him head lice. I'm waiting for him to leave so I can disinfect the counter and everything I saw him touch, but he dawdles, looking at sunscreens and chocolate bars. I almost wish I could pull the fire alarm, just to get him out of the store. His flurry of dandruff is flying everywhere, and he only let up with the head scratching long enough to count his cash.
He finally leaves, and I pull out bottles of disinfectant. The cashier comes to the back, and asks me why I'm cleaning the counter so thoroughly.
"Didn't he tell you all about his head lice?" I ask.
"No, he told me that he's going right from here to a restaurant. I hope he stops scratching his head, or he's going to get something extra in his food!"
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