Drugstore Cowboy Dave goes to School

It was a beautiful sunny morning. Damn near cold enough to freeze the tip off your nose, but a bright and clear example of late fall in Toronto. The long scarf wrapped around his face helped keep the cold at bay, and the long, two-colour stripe design looked cool; like something right out of Dickens’ Victorian London. The streets were still dirty; it was late April, and there still wasn't any rain to wash the dirt away, and Toronto still had the grimy feel of large industrial city.


Getting off the Seneca 104 bus, Dave Frost viewed the slightly chaotic scene that was going to be a big part of his life for the next 2 years. He managed to sneak into the summer session, thanks to his high school average of 89%. The school’s extensive grey cement walls were still new, and seemed to sparkle in the morning sun. As he walked down the hill towards the main building, students descended upon the school from every direction, like ants returning to their anthill. Dave mingled with the incoming throng, trying to find his first class without consulting the school map.

It was his first week. The two year journalism diploma could open the way to a new life as a struggling writer. But, Dave had serious doubts about the value of a Seneca diploma, especially when he was enrolled at York University's English program. He could start in September or January, or, finish this Diploma, then switch to the ivy leagues. What was a year, he concluded, especially when you were twenty-four. Anyway, this course included a 12 month practicum, experience he could use after he got his B.A.

So far, this school showed party potential: yesterday, he met some 2’nd year students that were major partiers. This guy sparked up a couple of Thai-stick joints right in the middle of the cafeteria. That was strong weed. He was so stoned he ended up sitting in the wrong class for over an hour before he realized he had no business being in auto-mechanics. The first week was always screwed up, and no one expected you to do anything else but find your way around.

Always scheming, Dave spotted a Doctor’s office across from the school, and had a spare before lunch. Today’s plan was to see this new Doctor, play up the student angle, and get some good cough syrup. It was the perfect con. He already went through the same situation on his first day. He was coughing a fair bit, interrupting the class, and was handed a bottle of cough syrup by another student. When he read the label, he couldn’t believe it. She had handed him a six-ounce bottle of Novahistex DH. Of course, he guzzled two ounces before handed the bottle back, thanking her profusely. After class, they had discussed the merits of various cough syrups, but Dave could tell she wasn’t a real abuser. More like a user…with a cough.

The first class was Humanities 101. A blend of Philosophy and History, it looked like it might be the best class he had: the rest dealt with Grammar, English composition, and modern Media technologies and techniques. Plus the professor looked like no one told him the hippie movement was over. So, by 10:30, Dave was on his way to see the Doctor about his terrible cough that was annoying his whole class.

Across the street was a long mall boasting a dozen skinny stores with square entrances and long footage. There was a small office section on the second floor, and Dave had no problem finding it. He walked in the sun filled room, approved of all the healthy plants, and approached the sliding glass that separated the receptionist from the outer office. The glass was half open, so he pushed it all the way and leaned in to look for someone. And there it was. Sitting on the receptionist’s desk, with no one around, was a full prescription pad. Well Dave didn’t take long when it came to snap decisions like this. When opportunity knocks, or when at the pot, think fast. He reached through the opening, grabbed the pad and hightailed it out of the office. Now he could forge a script for anything he wanted.

He quickly headed outside, and was soon back in the cold bright sunshine. The strip mall had a small pharmacy, but it would be sheer stupidity to try and pass one there. You could bet dollars to donuts that the pharmacist got most of his business from the Doctor he just ripped off, and would be well acquainted with the Doctor’s scrawl and signature. If he wanted to try and pass one, it would make a lot more sense to go to a pharmacy that had never heard of the guy. Dave spotted the Finch East bus chugging up the hill, and ran across the street to meet it. About 2 miles would be enough.

Once on the bus, Dave planned his strategy. Cashing a phoney script was dangerous during the daytime. Since the Doctor was in his office, the Pharmacist could just call to verify the prescription, and the game was over. However, most Pharmacist’s were very busy, and it was a hassle to call and get a verification. Most relied on their trained eye to spot any forgeries, and to size up the customer trying to pass the script. That was were Dave excelled. He always presented himself as a neat and respectable young man, and was an expert in improvising the right responses to any questions. Combined with suburb acting skills, most Pharmacists took him as a genuine article and never phoned.

Considering his options, he dug in his pocket and counted his money. That made a big difference. He didn’t have enough to pay for a script with cough syrup and antibiotics, and writing a script for straight cough syrup was risky, as most Doctors gave you antibiotics with the narcotic. He remembered the stunt he pulled when he had a broken leg. He had some of the Doctor’s blank scripts, so he took the original to the pharmacy under the Doctor, where they knew the Doctor’s writing and wouldn’t phone, then took a cab Downtown and kept cashing fakes until a pharmacy actually called.

Since the Doctor’s office had never been contacted, they assumed this was their script and approved it. The important thing was he passed 10 fake scripts before they followed the law and called for verification. Besides, most of his money was gone.

The cast provided the finishing touch. The first script was for 100 Percodans, and he collected 1200 Percodans before the Pharmacy cancelled the script by calling. What was required here was stage dressing, and he just happened to have a new sling in his book bag. The bus was stopping at Yonge Street, and he decided it was time to go try his luck.

Soon a one-armed, clean-cut student, grimacing in pain, entered the full-service Topper’s in the North-East Mall. The Topper’s irony was not lost on him. One year ago, with the help of his partner, they had cleaned out a large Toppper’s not far from here. Hopefully, that was a good sign. He strode down the aisle towards the Pharmacist, not too fast, and placed the freshly signed prescription on the counter. A fresh-faced young Pharmacist gave him a cheery good-morning, offering a sympathetic look when she saw the cast. Dave knew it was cut and dried.

He gave her a fake address near there, mentioned something about a cab outside, then eased into the waiting chair and adjusted himself so his arm wouldn’t give him too much pain. You had to act the part and look casual about it. Sure enough, a couple of minutes later the Pharmacist called out his phoney name, and he was soon heading down the aisle with 60 Percodans and a slight smile. The Pharmacist had even wished him a speedy recovery.
Part Two...coming soon

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