Quirks Of The Pharmaceutical Sales Process

The other day I was rummaging through the medicine cabinet in search of some Ibuprofen to ease my pounding headache. In this day and age, virtually everyone has a medicine cabinet brimming with medication. People are surprisingly stocked on medicine despite the fact that the pharmaceutical sales process seems to make it as difficult as possible to acquire said treatments to your aches and pains. Rarely can one cruise through the entire process without getting tripped up along the way.

It all starts with an ear infection, strep throat, or some other bothersome ailment. Over-the-counter treatments are out of the question, forcing you to leave your humble abode and wait in one of those stiff, rigid lobby chairs in the doctor's office. After waiting for seemingly hours for the guy ahead of you to get a refill authorization for his placebos, you are asked into one of the claustrophobic, lifeless white examination rooms. The doctor shoves a stick down your throat, checks your ears and eyes, and puts that cold stethoscope on your chest only to ultimately tell you what you already know: you have strep throat. You sigh, thank the doctor for his time, and rush out the door with your little slip of paper in your hand, the voice of the old lady at the reception counter complaining about her co-pay lingering in your mind as you make your way to the car.

After fighting with traffic, you arrive at the local pharmacy. Naturally, the pharmacist is on the phone and the clerks are busy in the back room. Here the sales process takes a turn for the worse. The flustered pharmacist grudgingly takes your prescription, but promptly scoffs and announces that he can't read the doctor's handwriting. That means you get to sit in the yet another uncomfortable lobby chair as you wait for them to call and clarify your dosage. Shaking his head, the pharmacist complains and sends you away, saying that it will take around an hour to fill, despite the fact that you are the only customer in the building.

Returning to the pharmacy after a quick trip to the video store, Wall-Mart, and the local deli, the pharmaceutical sales process throws you another curveball: your insurance won't pay for your prescription. Despite the fact that the pharmacist never knows why the insurance won't help, you ask anyway, only to receive a muffled and indiscernible response. Grudgingly, you pull out your cell phone to do what every man dreads most: call your wife asking for help. Honey, can we afford this? You ask quietly so the pharmacist can't hear. After reiterating the problem several times, the conversation turns into a heated debate, ultimately resulting in a forceful closing of your flip-phone and the retrieval of your wallet. You don't use credit cards for small purchases, and you can never seem to remember your pin, so you resort to cash. Of course, your recent trip to Wall-Mart has stripped every bill worth more than ten dollars away from you, forcing you to empty out half of your wallet's contents to cover the fee. And the clerks are nowhere to be found, making you wait that much longer. This is an all too familiar experience for most people. From the time your burning throat was discovered to the time you disregard the dosage instructions and swallow a handful of pills the size of your index finger, half a day has transpired. The quirks of the pharmaceutical sales process have claimed another victim. And don't even think about going in for a refill.

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