The CVS apocalypse

Hell hath no fury like a poorly run pharmacy

When the end of days are upon us you hope there will be signs, things that allow us to say, “ok time to run for shelter and get some last hugs in.” But maybe we’re not looking in the right places. Maybe the hints are more subtle. A gentle fraying, a soft brown blemish on the fabric of reality that grows imperceptibly day by day until our whole world is nothing but a festering shit stain. My apocalypse antennae began tingling the second I stepped into the CVS on 9th ave and 55th street this week. I was only there for some body wash for my wife and made the mistake of assuming this midday errand would be a fast in and out. It was not to be.

I entered through the deafening sound of jackhammers tearing up the NYC sidewalk only to be greeted by an inability to get to my soap. You see, in New York they’ve taken to locking up all products worth more than a hamburger behind glass, making your shopping experience akin to the most boring zoo one could imagine. I’m not sure how many people are running off with bottles of Native’s Cashmere & Rain moisturizing body wash, but someone in corporate decided it was far too risky to leave on the shelf, in a store where people go to buy things off shelves. So in order to get my paws on this cleanser I had to press the associate summoning button that interrupts the pre-programmed CVS radio station reminding me every 30 seconds of some fantastic deal that could be mine, but was also probably locked behind glass. But as the “help needed in personal care aisle” message chimed in over the speaker I knew I was deeply fucked. No one was hearing that request over the jackhammer outside. Not a chance. So I began a quest to find an associate with a magic key, that could free my soap from product bondage.

just press this and wait forever

I doubt any religious texts have prophesied that the end of the world would be marked by basic transactions becoming wildly complicated, but as I realized there was only one employee in this entire store it dawned on me that the promised fire and brimstone may have been a metaphor for the feeling that was bubbling up inside me. On paper, the CVS Healthcorp board of directors are having a banner year. The stock price is way up. First off, no one is stealing any body wash, so they got that covered. Now if they can just get rid of all these pesky salary-needing humans, they can really crank up those dividends. But as I searchedf for help I got to thinking CVS should change their tagline from “Healthier happens together” to Dante’s jingle, “Lasciate ogne speran za, voi ch’intrate” or “Abandon all hope ye who enter here.”

let’s trim some more fellas

I finally spotted associate Carmen dealing with another frantic customer, both of them trying to keep their voices below a yell, over the sound of the pneumatic hammer blasting concrete just feet away. I signaled to her that I needed help, and as her eyes met mine I saw real desperation in them. This was her life as the last CVS man standing. Running from exasperated customer to customer with her little key, getting them things they used to be able to grab by themselves. Like some old timey shop keeper pullin’ sarsaparilla root of the top shelf for two bits. But that’s not what she was doing. This was not service with a smile. This was panic. I tried to connect with her on a human level, during this very dehumanizing experience, “I hope your day is going ok!” She couldn’t hear me. She couldn’t hear anything. So as I abandoned language entirely I realized I was no visitor here. We were both in this hellscape together.

At least now I had the body wash in hand, but I wasn’t done. It was time for the self checkout kiosk. This devilishly designed failure machine seemed to have the last victim’s vitamins still on the screen. Did he give up? Did he just steal them as corporate retribution for making him hate his life so much, or did he just die standing here trying to get his B12 gummies? No one will ever know. But I knew one thing. I needed more help from Carmen. Pedestrians can’t void a sale. No! That would be insane. We might as well make this pharmacy some weird commie co-op collective. I sprinted back towards the baby formula safe deposit vault where she was helping a mom who’s toddler was adding screamo vocals over the construction din. I mimed some weird version of “the self check out needs your ID so I can just get this soap” Unsurprisingly Carmen knew exactly what I meant. She does this all day, everyday. Frantic laps between imprisoned health and beauty aides and pathetically programmed checkout systems with angry customers blaming her for this company’s complete lack of empathy, intelligence or desire to make anything work.

I just want to be clean

It’s clear that today, we as a species, stand on the precipice of a future where the systems we have designed turn us into frantic, furious idiots. But that frustration won’t show up on the AI generated, read and analyzed data sets that prove “tangible” profitable results, leaving those of us with air in our lungs looking from one to another wondering what’s happened. Each step of every process painstakingly designed to work just ok. ChatGPT will then list out, with a quirky tone, the five easy steps for me to get my Lily Milk & White Sage Native body cleanser. Wait… Shit, oh no. I grabbed the wrong one, my wife wanted the rain flavored one. “Carmen! Carmen!!!! Where are you?” I hear Satan chuckle over the speaker above me and whisper, “Carmen’s not here anymore. She’s being spit roasted in hell, just as you are. There will be no leaving this CVS, the world you knew is no more. But don’t fret, corporate has it covered. Your business is important to us, please continue to hold and a Chatbot will have easy solves for all your human problems in three steps or fewer.”

thanks ai for creating this hell