Free A Pain in the Tuchis: A Mrs. Kaplan Mystery by Mark Reutlinger

hundred cars all around it, like a black moat with white stripes and a few colored boats floating here and there. As soon as we got near the glass doors that said “Entrance,” they swooshed open, with a sound like a large person taking a deep breath, and we walked in. They call it a “drugstore,” but in most of it they sell no drugs, but everything else from toys to televisions. Only a small part in the back is for buying drugs. When I was younger, the only drugstore we went to had an orange and blue sign on the outside that said “Rexall,” and inside the only things they sold other than actual drugs were maybe corn plasters and Epsom salts. Maybe also some Juicy Fruit gum and Life Savers.
    The pharmacy part of the store was against the back wall, and we made our way there, passing by many things—like bags of salted snacks and sweet drinks, even liquor—that, if a person ate or used a lot of them, would make it much more likely they would need to buy medicines at the pharmacy. Maybe that is why these “drugstores” sell them!
    Daniel was busy with preparing some potion or other for a customer, so we sat down on the chairs set aside for people waiting for their prescriptions. The one I was sitting on had a little plastic switch on it. It was turned off, but I wondered what it was for, so I pushed it to “on.” Immediately my seat—and I do mean both the chair and my
tuchis
—began to vibrate. It was most embarrassing, especially because I gave a little shriek—only a little one, but enough for Mrs. K to look over and see me squirming and shaking like I had
shpilkes,
pins and needles—you know, ants in the pants. She looked alarmed.
    “Ida, is something the matter? What is wrong?”
    “No, nothing is wrong, it is just…,” I managed to say, although my voice went up and down every time I did. I was fumbling for the switch to turn the vibrations off, but I could not find it.
    Fortunately, Mrs. K figured out what was happening and she reached over and turned off the machine. What a relief! I am surprised they are allowed to sell these machines, much less inflict them on unsuspecting customers. I quickly moved to the next chair.
    After a few more minutes—during which I recovered my dignity and we had a chance to examine closely several magazines and a special on toilet paper—Daniel came out from behind the counter and greeted us.
    “Hello, Rose, Ida.” He gave us each a little hug. “It’s nice to see you again. I’ve missed our little chats when I was at the Home. So what can I do for you? Fill a prescription?” He sat down next to us, in the chair with the tricky switch. I’m sure he knew enough not to press it, though.
    Mrs. K first said how sorry we were about his mother’s passing, although of course we had said this already at the funeral. He thanked us and asked after our health, which for a pharmacist might be a business as well as a personal question. We assured him we were in good health, except for my bursitis and a few minor aches and pains. I’m not sure he really wanted to know.
    “So, Daniel, how is it to work in this big, fancy store?”
    Daniel rolled his eyes and said, his voice lowered a bit, “To be honest, Rose, it’s not like when I was working at Midtown Pharmacy.” This was a small, family-owned drugstore where Daniel worked before they closed—they could not compete with the big chain—and he moved to Superior Drug Mart.
    “No? Is that because it is such a large place?”
    “Well, it’s that, but also it’s the whole experience. When I was at Midtown, I knew everyone and everyone knew me. I mean, the people I worked with had been there for many years, like I had, and most of the customers were from that neighborhood and I knew them by name. It was like we were all family, and I was in the position of helping them to get well.”
    “And it is not like that here?”
    Glancing around first, Daniel said, “I’m afraid not. First of all, we serve a much bigger