Monday, January 11th, 2021

The crowd outside the pharmacy is confused. As I approach, I see a few people step up to the doors, which open for them. Some are let in. Some aren’t. I get to the doors as they open again. I hear the guard explain what's going on. It sounds like he’s done this a lot. “If you are here for prescriptions, only five people can come in at a time. If you are here for any other part of the store, you can come in now.” The official limit for the store as a whole is seventy customers. I guess they’re nowhere near that. I’m here for a prescription. I have to wait. The next time the door opens, the guard lets the five people in front of me in. I’m number six. Other people crowd behind me. Some ask me in Hebrew what’s happening. I can’t put the words together. Some speak to me in Russian. I can’t answer them either. After a while, five more of us are let in. The man behind me barrels ahead and gets to the queuing machine first. The machine spits out a number. He takes it and hands it to me, since I was waiting before him. He then takes a number for himself. His courtesy surprises me. I’m number 372. When they call 371, no one answers quickly, so they call me. Just as I get to the counter, a woman zooms over from the cosmetics racks, yelling that she is 371. Another pharmacist appears at the next counter. “Sir, 372, I can assist you here.” I’m there for the vitamin B-12. He gets it for me. There’s no discount for getting it as a prescription from my health plan, but at about fifteen dollars for a three month supply, that’s OK. I’m to take one a day, under my tongue. I’m not sure when. When I get up in the morning, I take the first pill of the day. I have to wait half an hour before eating. I slip the B-12 tablet under my tongue. It’s small and fits there comfortably. It tastes of artificial cherries. It dissolves after about twenty minutes. That’s OK. I catch up on email, get breakfast, and head off to see my doctor, in person this time.