I just spent an hour trying to find a doctor, and I don't care what kind, who will write me a prescription for Paxil (I had gone to the Georgetown Law Clinic for my seratonin-adjusting needs, but since they tricked me into graduating, I don't think I'm welcome there). Since I'm at work, God knows what the ten coworkers of mine within earshot of my cubicle think of my acceleratingly desperate pleas for mood-enhancing drugs to various physicians in the greater Washington DC area. I'm so tempted right now to exert a huge sigh, then audibly pretend to place an order for some handgun ammo.
(Finally found someone, a nice father and son practice in Arlington. Incidentally, Aetna, your website fucking sucks. Either update your information or disable the Find a Doc feature. I called at least a dozen places that reported "We no longer accept Aetna" [which, let me tell you, inspires a lot of confidence in my healthcare provider] or "Hi, this is Starbucks-formerly-the-Mental-Health-Center-of-Howard-University-Hospital.")
I know what you're wondering, and no, baristas do not have prescription pads. Those are solely the province of the manager, and that guy wouldn't give me anything unless I agreed to come in and buy a triple espresso first.