What is the American Society of Health Systems Pharmacist’s Midyear Meeting? Well, it’s like a family reunion of pharmacists. The younger kids will talk to those older siblings that they idolize. They’ll ask the older kids if they can put in a good word for their bosses for them so they might get hired at the same after-school job that their cousin has. The adults will ask the the older kids what they’ve been up to. The older kids will explain (with visual aids!) and try to look good. Then they try to see if any of their uncles has any openings at the factory so they can stop lifeguarding for spending money. The adults will get together and talk about what they’ve been doing and try to give each other advice and generally pat each other on the back for their accomplishments.
But I don’t remember any of my family reunions happening in a place with $11.50 salads. Or that had lint rollers in the vending machine.
The quest begins on Friday last week, when I shoved my “professional clothes” haphazardly into the back seat of my Civic (freshly waxed to minimize the drag coefficient) and started blazing down I-290, then I-294, telling my GPS device to shut up until I hit I-80. After a night in West Laffy, I met up with Guin (fellow Kenya alum) and we took her car down to Carmel to pick up Jenna. Then we took the snowy backroads down to Evansville to get Jen (another Kenya alum). (Yeah, I know, I’m driving across the country with three suspiciously similarly-named girls. Who wrote this?)
It’s a good 6 hours before we stop driving through unplowed interstate, but soon we were zooming across the Mason-Dixon line and Florida-bound, firing off Snapchats all the way. Some of which include my dictation and commentary of the latest issue of Cosmo’s sex tips. *sigh* I don’t know what I was sexpecting. Some of their sexpert sexplanations are not so much sexhilarating as they are straight-up sex-terrifying. Do yourselves a favor and have your girlfriend replace that subscription with Popular Science or something, guys. Your unscalded-with-hot-wax junk will thank you.
We finally arrived late in the early morning hours in balmy Orlando. One late-night sofa sleep later, I’m chowing on a wonderful new discovery, Del Taco breakfast burritos, and trying to figure out what this whole Midyear residency showcase schedule is all about.
The way it works is the residency programs from all across the country are trying sell themselves to the eager young and motivated new generation of pharmacists on the cusp of graduation. At the same time, the eager young new generation are trying get info on whether they should apply to these programs and if the programs are good enough for them. Repeat x3 sessions.
Sig: Walk up, shake hands, introduce self, ask hopefully relevant questions, leave.
Now the cynic would hope not to be remembered with these interactions. They need their info then they go. The cynic is wise here. The population is such that the bad impressions stand out more than the good. So I certainly hope to get away with my anonymity intact. I worry about some of the representatives remembering me, probably not for my face. More likely for my name. Vietnamese residents have a tendency to remember it. I’m not exactly eagered to get remembered, because this is purely information-gathering for me at this point. I can’t be sure I’m making a good impression or not.
After internally wincing at my own behavior for hours, I finally escape the convention hall and sit down at a cafe much more informed about my residencies of interest, including some new front-runners.
And then, the relaxation began. Beer run, hummus run, bar (in that order), see a bunch of old Purdue pharmers, and some from the year ahead of us. And that was only Tuesday night. Wednesday was what everyone was looking forward to. The F$*%ing Wizarding World of Harry F&@*ing Potter!
Oh, and did I mention there was butterbeer? And free food and alcohol at stations all along the streets. We (Midyear attendees) were each given drink tickets for one free drink. Oh, and not everybody drinks. So when we passed by some random drink tickets just sitting out, we seriously debated taking and cashing them. As we argued, a random pharmacist ran up to us and assured us she intended to leave them out for people to take. Then she disappeared into the crowd. “Thank you for getting us drunk, random pharmacist!” I called out. But she was gone.
Sadly, there were only three crowded evening-time hours at the park. Which meant longish lines, lots of traffic, and poorly lit photo ops.
The Incredible Hulk roller coaster with Becky had me relive my 12-year-old self’s last foray into Islands of Adventure. Only my 12-year-old self was less full of alcohol and Stacy’s calzones. Becky’s made of stronger, less alcohol-soaked stuff than me and took it again. At this point we were in the last hour of our time at Islands of Adventure. I left my friends, drinking at a rave (Islands of Adventure is pretty off da hook after dark), to race back to the Wizarding World and claim a wand. Crossing Diagon alley through the park, I passed through hordes of Muggles before quickly grabbing the instrument from the shelf. 13 inches, cherry, unicorn hair core.
I needed to get that wand. I’m not usually one for sentimentality, but this was a great week (Potential career derailment notwithstanding). Because this was all good friends experiencing a difficult time together. There is so much uncertainty for us. This is where we solidify our future for at least a year. It’s when our time of potential greatness ends and actual greatness begins, the end of our lives as mere students. And I wanted something that whenever I picked it up, I would be compelled to remember the collective disquiet and, conversely, the inter-reliance that got us through the week. I wanted something tangible to represent that ephemeral, fleeting shadows of former selves we leave behind in Orlando…
Oh, jeez, the wand is a Horcrux.