I love pharmacies. Especially big ones. Or foreign ones. Much to my boyfriends displeasure I love wandering around them on holidays. All the foreign drugs and cultural remedies call out to me as I stroll past, map in hand, en route to another tourist attraction. I spot pharmacys like others spot planes & trains.
I browse the medical section like other girls ooh and aah over the cosmetics. “Look”, I’ll point out to by boyfriend, “they have special ear cones for people with tinnitus”. He’ll wander over, “I didn’t know you had tinnitus”. I don’t. But that’s hardly the point!
When he first discovered my fascination he asked me what it was about and I think it comes from feeling like I’m in a place of health. Row after orderly row of illness-quashing potions with fancy name endings like -achloride and -oxeylene. Perhaps I feel a sense of kinmanship with my fellow customers – other sick people, seeking a cure for what ails them.
I would have loved to have been a doctor, but I can’t stand the sight of blood. I might have been a pharmacist, but in high school chemistry a failed experiment left a still intact scorch on the bench. I might even have been an actor on any one of those hospital dramas, but I don’t like speaking in public. So I guess being a pharmacy spotter is the next best thing!