Adventures in Pharmaceutical Sales

Dickman. Dr Dickman.

How are you supposed to call HIM and maintain your composure?

Same thing with Dr Pepper.

And how's this for an answering message?

"This is Doctor Finley. I'm not available right now - but if your situation is an emergency, please go to an Emergency Room."

Sorry? Did you just suggest that, if my medical situation is an emergency, I should take myself off to an Emergency Room? Good God, that's genius! I can see NOW that those seven years of medical school were well spent.

In fact, why do ALL out-of-ours messages begin: "If your condition is life threatening, please hang up and call 911."?

I mean, are people really SO dumb that they call their General Practitioner out-of-hours when they've just accidently lopped their arm off with a chainsaw? The mind reels - but presumably it happens often enough for doctors to cover their bases with the answering machine message.

And finally, geography.

Why is there an Ohio in Colorado? And a Colorado in Texas? Doesn't ANYBODY realise how confusing that is?

Golly. This business is an eye opener.

It was suburban rockstar Huey Lewis who crooned: "I'm taking what they're giving, 'cos I'm working for a living."

As contributions to modern philosophy go, it's not exactly profound. But he's absolutely right. Here in America, the key to survival is to get up off your arse and get a job.

So until one of my job applications pans out (I've applied for a fantastic radio job) I'm workin' for a living at a pharmaceutical marketing company.

This has presented me with a problem. My life has turned into that Fast Show sketch called "The Unpronouncables."

Here I am, vending my drugs for nervous bladders, and the conversations run like this:

"Hello! I'm Roland from [insert name of pharmaceutical company here.] I'm here to speak to Doctor Siz... Schziz... Erm. Sniz? Sizzle Cow Ski? Schnizikowski, that's it."

That's the first hurdle. Then it moves onto:

"I'd like to send you samples of our new drug, Boy... Buy.. Byosk.. Boyosckafellin? Buy oxes and fell them? You know, I've got a leaflet."

Then they ask how it works. And I know this. I know more about nervous bladders than anybody unconnected to the medical industry rightly should by now.

"Well, it's an anticoller... artichocker... anticholi... auntie coller in yer neck. Anticholinergic. That's it. It releases an antagonist that prevents the ace tailor cow lean... acetylcholine... from binding with the receivers... receptors, I mean. And that stops the trousers from relaxing."

Pause.

"Did I say The Trousers? I meant Detrusor."

And after this mangled presentation, the response is:

"Oh my God. Your ACCENT. Are you from England?"