meds: succ-failure

I left work early, with permission from the boss, and took the subway back to my apartment. From there, I walked about half a kilometer to the Bluebird Pharmacy where I've picked up my hospital meds before. Today, though, they told me they didn't have Medication #6 out of six meds on my prescription list. I asked whether the med in question could be ordered; the answer was yes. When I asked how long that would take, I was told I could pick the thing up tomorrow. But what the pharmacy did today was simply to ring up everything with the intention of giving me all my meds tomorrow. So I went home today with a lighter wallet and no meds. I belatedly realized I had missed an opportunity to joke flirtatiously with all the ladies there about how tomorrow was okay—I didn't plan on dying today. This is what the French call l'esprit de l'escalier or "staircase wit": it's the witty thing you think to say after the conversation is over, and you're halfway up the staircase. 20/20 hindsight.

So, I guess today's mission to acquire meds ended in succ-failure: I paid for the meds, but I won't get them until tomorrow. I'll try not to die in the meantime.