Anything Sweet in There

I hobbled into the pharmacy and caught the attention of the young man behind the counter.

“I need to speak with whoever’s in charge today,” I told him.

While he went to fetch someone, I quietly set a small glass jar and a teaspoon on the counter and waited patiently.

The pharmacist appeared — all professional and polished — and clasped his hands together. “What can I do for you today, ma’am?”

I pushed the jar and spoon toward him and said, “I hate to be a bother, but would you be a dear and taste this for me? My arthritis makes it hard to tell if things taste right anymore.”

He looked at the jar. Then at me. Then back at the jar.

I gave him my most helpless grandmother smile. That did it.

He sighed, dipped the spoon in, and took a small taste.

The reaction was immediate. His face went through about six different colors before he lunged for the trash can, sputtering and gagging like a cat with a hairball.

I waited for him to compose himself.

“Well?” I asked pleasantly. “Anything sweet in there?”

He wheezed, eyes watering. “Absolutely NOT. That’s the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted in my life.”

I snapped my purse shut and nodded with satisfaction.

“Perfect. My doctor told me to bring a urine sample to the pharmacy and have someone check it for sugar.”