When Bad Font Meets Bad Printer

My pharmacy offers a voicemail service to refill your prescriptions. I used to find it annoying. Somehow I've adapted and find it reassuring when, at bleary-eyed in the morning and I suddenly discover I've only three pills left in the bottle, I can pick up the phone and order a refill even though nobody else sane is awake at this hour. I just used that service to call in the refill. At least I think I did.

I didn't notice when I picked up the last bottle, 3 months ago (cheaper that way), just how bad the label was. All the big stuff looked fine. Right name, right dosage, right number of refills, same precautions to the glancing eye. Although, once I had reason to look, I see that the label appears to say, "Do not use sal: substitute without consulting your doctor." The way that would register in the brain is completely contrary to intent. Good thing I never looked at it.

Hey, c'mon, I've been taking this stuff for years. I know the precautions by now, or it's too late for me anyway.

What gave me the reason to look was the fact that this morning I couldn't read the numbers on the bottom: phone and prescription. I do apologize to whoever didn't answer their phone when the 9 looked like a 3 and the 6 like an 8. As the ringing went on and on and no machine picked up, I stared at that label long enough to realize that 484 really should be 464 for the location of the pharmacy. Oops! Sorry!

Obviously it takes a very bad font to make those numbers look interchangeable. The top of a 6 should be straight, not loop over. Same thing for the bottom of a 9. What complicated the whole thing was that the printer had been running out of ink or toner (whatever) and the whole thing was light and missing teeny bits. When you know what it says, it's not a problem. Studies show that humans can read even when there are letters missing. The brain supplies the context and fills in the meaning. Looking again I now saw that the information I "knew" was as badly printed as the numbers at the bottom of the label. Since I know who my doctor is, my brain thought it didn't look bad.

But what's the context for a string of numbers? Luckily, I had the pharmacy number on other bottles and paperwork. But the Rx?

I didn't feel like waiting and trying to remember to call it in again before I actually needed it. Not with my highly distracted life. I know, for example, if it's a pill I need to take every day, it sits in the medicine cabinet next to the Ibuprofin. By the time I make it to the bathroom, I know how much I need that. No further reminders necessary. Anything next to it will be taken too, first thing. No failures. But if I have to remember something for a later time and place, there'd better be a note, prominently displayed. Life stops and begins anew at my front door. Work is different from home, and very little carries over without a nudge. So good luck remembering to call in that prescription later in the day.

Fortunately, one of the prompts on the voicemail system is actually for that: voicemail. You can leave a message for when they actually get there. So I did, telling them what I thought I'd just called in and what the number confusion was. I trust they'll sort it all out for me by tonight.