On a monthly basis, I journey to the pharmacy. Each month, the man behind the counter takes it upon himself to remove my so-evidently-birth-control prescription from the bag, wave it around, and explain to me very loudly exactly how to take these pills and the ins-ands-outs of birth control. As if, by now, I didn’t have this figured out. Further, each time that he does this, the people who are in the waiting room find the whole situation very funny. They exchange glances, make smirks, as if I am especially promiscuous (which is so clearly untrue).
In the name of Margaret Sanger, people, what is so funny about birth control!?
This time, I arrived at the pharmacy, as usual. The pharmacist, again, removed the small package from the bag and started waving it around. People exchanged glances as though I were Samantha Jones. Just as the pharmacist began to tell me about the inability of birth control pills to protect from STD’s, I decided to speak up for myself and my clearly-violated privacy.
“Excuse me,” I said with a shaking voice, “I am told this every month. I’ve also been told this by a doctor. I am aware of the logistics of birth control, if you don’t mind. Thank you.”
The pharmacist looked at me as though I had said something terribly offensive… but I stood my ground, I didn’t let myself feel bad, and I took my prescription and left. We’ll see if they say anything next time. Regardless, this little show of bravery made me feel as though I’d just conquered the Norman army.