A frontline healthcare worker called me yesterday in high dudgeon, rip-roaring mad, ticked off, pissed, angry, mad as a wet hen. Mad mad mad mad mad. I can’t blame her. She’s a pharmacist in a major grocery store chain, and the management of the specific locale of her employment is wringing its metaphorical hands like a heroine in a melodrama about how to care for its employees. In short, they’re not. She has every right to be mad. That is, however, not why she called me.