Murphy's Law

Rubbing my already throbbing temple with my left hand, I raised my nearly empty coffee cup to my lips. The sun slanting orange and pink lines across my messy desk indicated that I had somehow stayed awake through the night.

With a sigh, I closed the seemingly endless PowerPoint about surgical patient care and steeled myself to do a 12 hour clinical rotation on no sleep. I stood up to stretch, my limbs stiff from being curled up in my chair most of the night, and groggily wandered to the kitchen for more coffee.

Realizing I had poured the last of it a little over an hour ago, I pulled down the tub of coffee. The jarring clatter of the measuring cup inside and the disheartening lightness of the container reminded me that I had used nearly all of it only hours before. Glancing at the notepad on the fridge, my messy scrawl had jotted a note to “get more coffee tomorrow”.

Well it was tomorrow and I need coffee.

My exhausted brain wasn’t totally sure what to do for a moment. No more coffee means a very, very poorly behaved Rhett.

Realizing that I lived in Chicago and Starbucks is on literally every corner, I dragged myself up the stairs of my little loft to get dressed and make myself resemble a human. A few strokes of a brush through my wavy dark brown hair and some eyeliner and blush certainly helped make me look less like a creature that had crawled up from the sewers.

Pulling on an outfit consisting of a plum-colored sheath dress, black tights and tall black boots, I hoped that it was both warm and presentable enough for my presentation in front of the a good portion of the College of Medicine teaching staff today. After my keys, laptop, phone and wallet were tossed in my bag I threw on my black pea-coat and grabbed a bagel from my kitchen to munch on before making my way out of my building.

Stepping outside, the pink-orange cast to the light had given way to a more golden hue and proved a lovely backdrop for the lazy flakes of snow that had been falling most of the night. The early-morning calm of the city was comforting as I crunched my way down the block.



The faint smell of coffee reached me as I pulled on the tinted glass door eagerly. However, rather abruptly, someone from inside pushed the door open too quickly, and ran right into me, spilling scalding coffee down the front of my coat.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I cursed, hopping around, uselessly fanning the hot liquid seeping through my clothing.

“Jesus, I’m sorry, I didn’t think someone would be right there and…Are you okay? Do you need-” the culprit rambled, panic evident in his voice.

I held my hand up to stop the bumbling apology, and through gritted teeth I muttered, “it’s fine, I’m fine. Really.”

After a few more moments, the crisp December air had cooled the coffee and I began to realize I would probably now be wet and cold for the rest of the morning. Finally able to focus on something other than my second-degree burns, I glanced at the tall, well-dressed stranger that had effectively made my already terrible morning worse.

His brown eyes were wide, and his mouth was open slightly, not sure if he could or should say anything to help. I probably would have found his high cheekbones, sharp suit and the little scar on his top lip quite fetching had I not been in such a mood. In fact, perhaps if I wasn’t so preoccupied I may have thought he looked a bit familiar.

Choosing to not cause a further scene, I brushed past the dumbfounded young man and tromped into the café, intent on getting my overpriced latte and making it to my rotation on time despite my soiled clothes.

Marching up to the counter, I ordered a Vanilla latte with a double shot and dug my wallet out to pay. Before my numb fingers could wrestle my debit card out, a male voice from behind me called out, “I’ll pay for her coffee. And I’ll take a venti Pike Place too.”

Turning on my heel, I was again face-to-face with the handsome coffee spiller sheepishly holding out a credit card to the cashier. Before I could chastise him, the young man at the register quickly took his credit card and very chirpily asked, “Any room for cream?”

The clumsy offender shook his head and took his card back. He bashfully held out a wad of paper napkins to me. Realizing I hadn’t taken a moment to clean the coffee that was now seeped down to my skin, I brusquely took them. I really hope the dark color of my dress will keep it from showing.
Unbuttoning my coat to blot off the front of my dress, I mumbled, “You didn’t have to do that.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah, I did. I spilled boiling hot coffee on you and you didn’t hit me or threaten to sue.”

With a shrug, I said, “well it’s already been a rough morning, I didn’t need to ruin anyone else’s day.”
The guy behind the counter called out “Latte and Pike for Jonathan!” and the stranger reached over the counter to grab the drinks, handing the latte to me.

“Thanks,” I quirked my eyebrow, intrigued that the cashier knew his name without asking.
I sipped the latte, and instantly I felt a little better.

That is, until I glanced at my watch and I had only ten minutes to get to my meeting and get set up.
“Oh god, I’m so late. I have to go. Thanks for this,” I held up the latte. Before the confusion coloring his features could lift, I ran out the door and across Taylor Street, dodging traffic and praying to all of the Gods I could think of that my advisor would be running late too.



By some miracle, I made it to the medical building only a minute or two late and some of the faculty members I was speaking in front of hadn’t arrived. Downing my coffee, I set up and rehearsed my presentation for a few moments.

Once a few stragglers had wandered in, my advisor stood up, cleared his throat and announced, “Welcome everyone, thank you for coming. I’d like to introduce you to fourth year MD/PhD student, Rhett Pearson.”

Plastering on my most professional (read: robotic) smile, I launched into the progress report on my research project for the umpteenth time. This was essentially a practice for my actual PhD defense in about four months, but it was invaluable exposure to possible connections in the cell biology field.
After nearly twenty minutes of droning on about my research, I concluded and paused for questions. Thankful that no one had any truly mentally taxing questions, I thanked them and stepped down.

My advisor approached me as I tried to put away my laptop and sneak out without being noticed.

“Cutting it a bit close there, Ms. Pearson, weren’t we?” the older man chided, with a hint of humor.

I grimaced, “Sorry Adam, had a rough morning.”

“I would imagine clinical rotations are taking their toll about now,” he smiled knowingly.

I nodded, “On top of everything, some guy spilled his coffee all over me this morning.”

With a chuckle and a knowing twinkle, Adam said, “Murphy’s Law, right? Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Shaking his head, he told me, “Well, you did pretty well up there today, why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off and check out the sports medicine conference next door?”

I rolled my eyes, “Just what I need, more free pens and water bottles.”

Laughing at my sarcasm, “Hey, I hear they got some pretty great guest speakers to show up.”

“Again, not something I’m that interested in, Adam,” I smiled.

He shrugged and called over his shoulder on the way out of the room, “Suit yourself!” and whistled down the hall

I slowly packed my things, and shook hands with various staff members as they came up to congratulate me on my actually substantial research findings and exchange contact info. The whole time though, I really just wanted to go home and take a nap.

Leaving the conference room, and wandering down the hall, I passed one of the large event rooms. Before I got much further, unfortunately, Adam called out, “Rhett!”

Backtracking a few steps, I started to explain, “Adam, look, I’d love to chat but I really just want to go home, nap and…” but my words got caught in my throat as I realized he was standing with none other than Mr. Coffee Fumbles.

Adam animatedly made introductions, “Rhett Pearson, this is Mr. Jonathan Toews of the Chicago Blackhawks, who I was just happened to be telling about my favorite future doctor and PhD student!”

Still not grasping Adam's excitement over this klutz savant, I just kind of pointed and opened and closed my mouth a few times.

Eventually, I sputtered out, “It’s you!”