Andrew Jackson, a Benjamin and the special prescriptions, or, a never-published Hardy Boys story

It is an open secret among my close friends that I choose to manage my anxiety with the help of certain Roche/Pfizer-branded things. And it really IS anxiety management - I know there are skeptics who are going to read this and say: "You were just an addict getting your fix." No, not so much.

YOU try running your own business and living your life. Eventually you're going to drink, find god or take a calm-me-down pill.

YES, the calm-me-down pills CAN be addictive. But the first two will probably do you a lot more harm...

In some countries these prescriptions have distinctive colors or security features. I will not say what color the special prescriptions are so as to protect the ... well I won't say "guilty" but "involved" will do fine.

I just didn't want to waste a day or half a day finding a pharmacist that could refer me to a doctor's office, or ask a cab driver for a recommendation or whatever. I was staying at a swank place recently (British readers I said SWank, get yer mind out the gutter ya wankers). I went to the concierge and tipped him twenty bucks before even speaking about WHY. I said to him (mostly in his native language - ) "...for every problem there is a solution." I showed him my near-empty non-USA-branded product packages. "I'm going to get the legal paperwork for this country to buy more of this stuff before the end of the day, no matter what. If it's with your help, it will save me time. But it is going to happen no matter whether you get involved or not. You really shouldn't feel guilty because I don't. Now here are the brand names, chemical agents and their dosages. Please find me a doctor that will skip the office visit and just sign the damn document.

An hour later my local cellular phone number rang. (Kids, some sage advice: if you're in a foreign land and speak the local language well enough to talk on the phone - get your damn self a local mobile number no matter HOW you have to do it because it will probably immeasurably change your life.)

Depending on which country you're in it (the phone transaction or use thereof) may also immeasurably drain your wallet, but that's a whole other topic. I digress....

It was the concierge. "I found someone!" He actually sounded surprised. I'm sure he'd made some calls and heard "Not no but hell no" a few times. But he succeeded and that's what counts. Power of positive thinking... you can't discount it. It was like the movie "The Secret," except I had decided: I AM going to buy those pills. Positive thinking!

He went on to tell me, "... but the guy wants to ask you a few questions over the phone." OK, I have no problem with this.

I will take the details of my conversation with that duly-licensed medical professional to my grave.

So it wound up that a hundred bucks (that's where Benjamin enters the saga - this ain't no bible story and it sure as shit doesn't have anything to do with Hebrew School) went into an envelope to pay for the "medical consultation" that I'd gotten in... well it took between 90 and 600 seconds on the phone. You guess which, I'm not gonna fuckin' tell. Tough. I left the envelope with the concierge and went off to do other things.

Yes, just other things. I share a lot with my readers but I will not share in this context what those other things may or may not have been. I was "busy." Read that entirely as you will. Those of you who have read this blog know full well that the writer isn't overly-concerned about your judgments or opinions. Well, some of you the latter...

(Especially those of you who've been telling me over and over for the last six months: YOU NEED TO GET LAID, DUDE! The jury is still out on that question, but I'm 90% certain you were right.)

So I returned to my hotel room and there was an envelope with duly-authorized prescription documents appropriate for that country - basically confirming that that medical professional concurred with my opinions about anxiety management!

I have to admit though... I laughed like hell at how quickly it all worked out. Props for:
* the power of positive thinking
* the TRUTH behind the statement "if you don't ask, you don't get."

And for those of you that read this far (thanks) - you might be wondering why this was a never-published Hardy Boys story. Surely the author of those stories wouldn't ever conceive of doing something quite so ghastly. But maybe... If either of the Hardy Boys ever abused these pills I assure you they might have just passed dead out. There have been plenty of stories in which they were drugged. This class of drugs would not be a villain's first or second choice (what I bought does NOT rhyme with "poofy"). OR - and this is pure speculation - maybe they WERE (however implausibly) drugged and then realized they'd both gotten cornholed pretty good so they agreed never to tell the story. Choose your own ending there.

I crack myself up. (Adopts Beavis and Butthead tone of voice) "He just said cornholed and ending all in the same breath. Heheheehhehehh."