As she feared, Frida was working the desk. Frida made her stand at the desk for a full fifteen minutes before she finally took a break from answering the phones and sipping her latte to give Sharon a raised eyebrow.
"Are you a new patient?"
"Frida, it's me. Sharon Barren. I was just here this morning."
"Uh huh," Frida yawned. "Dr. Knowall will see you in a few minutes. He's just running a little late."
"I don't have an appointment," Sharon pointed out. "I just need a new ovidrel prescription. My trigger shot didn't come in my meds box. I just called you a few minutes ago and you hung up before I could tell you my name."
"Sorry, but we can't write prescriptions today. The computers are down."
"You just told me on the phone that you would call it into the pharmacy," Sharon said, staring at Frida's computer screen which was clearly functional and showing a gossip website with a picture of a half-dressed Brad Pitt at the top of the screen.
Frida sighed loudly. "I'll get on it."
A few minutes later, she came out of the back offices with a slip of paper that she shoved across the counter.
Sharon left without thanking her and filled the prescription downstairs. There was still time to get to her office, but Sharon said fuck it and went home to read trashy chicklit books and surf her favourite infertility blogs.
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