I am addicted to coffee. I know this, I admit it, I am unwilling to do anything about it. When considering the possible addictions one could actively pursue, I feel that coffee is really the lesser of many evils. It doesn’t make me do things I am sure to regret, I can drink it all day long at work, and I won’t get arrested for drinking it while driving. I have never awoken to a caffeine induced hangover or been junk (java) sick.
Until yesterday.
Owing to a busy week and not enough sleep, I managed to allow myself to run out of coffee at home. For all the same reasons, I awoke so late yesterday that stopping on the way to work was out of the question. I quite literally struggled my way to the office, my GPS unaware that one of the roads I normally take was closed, causing a complicated re-reroute. All I really remember about my commute was yelling “No, you git!” every time the British fop on my GPS told me to turn where I clearly knew I should not.
I managed to roll into clinic with only seconds to spare. I began to panic because I could not find my stethoscope. I rifled my briefcase, the work room, my desk—nothing. I spent seven minutes hunting for it. I cannot do my job without my stethoscope. I finally gave up and snagged a pink one from a colleague’s lab coat that was stashed behind the door. I knew she would not approve of my doing so, but I was desperate. I said a quick prayer of repentance and slung it around my neck.
Only later while washing my hands before the restroom mirror did I realize why I had been unable to find my stethoscope in the first place.
It was already around my neck.
Clearly, my brain was java sick–too overwhelmed by caffeine withdrawal to perform the most basic of tasks. I have no excuse, however, for my colleagues who couldn’t be bothered to let me know I looked like a moron. Thanks for nothing, ladies.
