Anne O'Brien, Boots the Chemist, Half-Moon Street, Cork, Ireland.

Stereotypical Irish lass replete with sly viciousness and deep rooted sexual identification issues

Boots’ logo doesn’t mean anything to
the inbred mongrels in Cork City,
especially the moronic Anne O'Brien.

What an unsettling encounter had I with a pharmacist in this Boots Pharmacy on Half-Moon Street, Cork City. 

And after seeing a seemingly endless amount of reports being released that tells of egregious paedophilic, emotional, and physical abuse being perpetrated on people around Ireland it was galling to experience the head pharmacist in this Boots outlet acting like a sink-estate thug.

This Cork or Kerry lady didn’t just act like a snarling imbecile who liked to throw her weight around: from what I saw of her, on two occasions, she’d be likely to physical attack someone.

And as if to put the tin-hat on it she had a sense of self-importance that Libya’s Colonel Gaddafi would be proud of in a daughter. This imbecilic Boots’ Pharmacist aggressively and caustically refused to exchange – or give a refund for – a faulty product I had purchased there two days earlier. While refusing she had on her face a sneering grin one would expect to see on drunken sink-estate thugs as they beat up and robbed an old person.

The Boots' outlet where the dumb

Anne O'Brien is head pharmacist.

I can’t understand how this moron could ever have qualified to work as a pharmacist, and imagine grade inflation or cheating must have had something to do with it – although it’s debatable whether she even has the nous to have cheated. I think if this person had been born thirty years earlier she’d have been a nun instead of a pharmacist because back then Ireland didn’t have grade inflation – back then in Ireland it was a choice between being a nun or a charlady for inbred mongrels like O'Brien.

But Anne wouldn’t have been any regular old nun: she’d have most definitely been attracted to the Magdalene Sisters, and as a Magdalene nun there’s no doubt that she would have been in her element; O'Brien would have ruled her fiefdom with an iron fist. She’d have drained the last ounce of sweat out of the laundry’s slaves and, without doubt, profits would have increased with her wielding the whip – she’d have glowed with contentment from having vulnerable enslaved youths to torment and beat.

I’d sooner trust this fellow than O’Brien.

This Boot’s head pharmacist was actually taken aback (real typical of Cork and Kerry natives) when she realised I wasn’t going to accept her abuse. When I read aloud her name badge and indicated I’d be contacting Boots’ management and the Irish Pharmaceutical Society about her conduct she got extremely aggressive. My uppitiness in refusing to be cowed caused her great displeasure, to say the least – being a head pharmacist (regardless of whether you're dog-faced or not) is a high-and-mighty position in Pict-land (south-west Ireland); can you imagine a member of the lower classes not knowing his place in Cork's accepted societial hierarchy?

She made a written reply to my complaint – which I received from the Irish Pharmaceutical Society and still have in my procession – which was so bad, both grammatically and in layout, that a 10-year-old child could have written better.

I encountered Ms O'Brien sometime afterwards and what a petulant display she put on. Her lower lip was jutting out like a sulky demented child while her upper one quivered upwards: the fidgetiness and aggression she displayed towards me was off-the-scale, there's no doubt she'd have very much liked to have boxed my face. 

I think of this person when I hear Boots advertise that they're now dispensing medications that were formally prescription only. I’d have to think deeply if offered a choice between having this lady dispense medications to me, or to take my chances with a witch-doctor in an African forest.