I’m sorry, sweetie

This morning as I was sitting at my desk reviewing patient charts, my office partner (we’ll call him Dr. Patt Rones) walked in like he normally does, dropped his stuff on our couch (that’s right, we’re big time and have a couch in our office) and offered a chipper “good morning!” Then he walked over, put something under my nose and said “Hey, smell this!” I was engrossed in opioid requirements and converting IV fentanyl to oral morphine equivalents so I didn’t pay too terribly much attention to what he was holding under my nose (which is a questionable response to such a scenario…in hindsight). I looked up and he was holding a big cup of coffee from The Roasterie. He went through some long explanation about his adventures in coffee acquisition and how he ultimately ended up with a cup of coffee that smelled like booze. “Is that rum?” I guessed. “No…wait…whiskey?” He assured me that the coffee didn’t actually contain any alcohol, but that the beans had been aged in whiskey barrels and the flavor was nothing short of spectacular. He went on to say that The Roasterie was running out of bags of this particular bean, so if I wanted some I should get there ASAP. So I added “get boozy coffee” to my list of things to do and went on about my day.

Like most Tuesday mornings I attended our team meeting and then rounded on some patients. A little dilaudid here, a little emu oil there….and don’t forget that senna! The usual. As I was making my way back to my office for lunch, I walked past The Roasterie in the hospital lobby and decided to grab myself some fancy whiskey barrel coffee.

The scene – busy hospital lobby coffee shop during lunch time rush.

Me: Hi there, I heard that you guys have a whiskey coffee?

Barista: Excuse me?

Me: Yeah, my friend who works here got some this morning.

Barista: I really don’t know what you’re talking about.

Me: Well…maybe it was rum flavored?

Barista: I still don’t know what you’re talking about.

Me: Maybe it was called an Irish coffee or something?

Barista: Nope, we don’t have that.

Me: The beans are aged in barrels.

Barista (facial expression revealing her concern for her safety. She is now contemplating calling security on the crazy doctor lady demanding a coffee that doesn’t exist): I’m sorry, sweetie, but we just don’t have that.

Me: (with tons of onlookers around me, feeling utterly perplexed…convinced that security [or perhaps the behavioral response team] was standing behind me, ready to make a move). Oh…okay.

I shuffled over to the bin where they keep bags of coffee beans for sale and rummaged through them. Betty’s Blend….Bridge Blend….Decaf Blend….surely the infamous whiskey coffee would be here too! Nope. I was losing my mind.

I evaded the clutches of the behavioral response team and was fortunately not taken into custody by our lovely security officers. I walked back to my office empty handed and went to the break room to make my own coffee.

Patt Rones walked in just as I hit START on the Keureg.

Me: (pointing an aggressive finger in his direction) Rones!

Rones: (turns around and walks out of break room sensing he is in trouble, then walks back in and says…) Well, let’s try this again.

Me: So…I was just down at The Roasterie asking for the whiskey coffee and the barista had NO IDEA what I was talking about. She looked at me like I had lost my mind!

Rones: Oh, well uh….I didn’t get it at the hospital Roasterie. I got it at the actual Roasterie on my way to work.

Me: ….

Rones: uh oh….

You can follow this link to purchase your own Irish Whiskey coffee….it’s really a thing. Perhaps I will buy some for the barista at the hospital.


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