Having a prescription refilled, you would think, would be an easy task. I mean, it’s not brain surgery—it’s just the medicine you take after your brain surgery.
The hard part should be snagging an appointment with the doctor of your choice, or the interminable wait in one of those cold rooms wearing a very last-season paper gown and trying not to get caught as you rifle through the cabinets, or maybe convincing the doctor that you need whatever it is in whatever dosage and then trotting that scrawl-covered snip of paper over to your local pharmacy.
This morning, as I was heading over to the coffee pot for a fresher-up, a song popped into my head … a song you might remember from a movie digitally remastered during your youth, and that is, of course, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.
Ignoring the more obvious social implications of this film—Snow White gets in with the dwarves, who she first assumes to be a group of messy orphans, through her cooking and cleaning prowess, becoming their mom/wife figure; they in turn assert their collective manhood by preventing several of the queen’s nasty plots and eventually hook their gal up with a hottie who can pay her bills—let’s consider our dwarves and their occupation.
Having a prescription refilled, you would think, would be an easy task. I mean, it’s not brain surgery—it’s just the medicine you take after your brain surgery. 
