Doctors are fickle creatures. We are notoriously inconsistent, impossible to organize and the only people we disagree with more than nurses are each other. In 2020, we were divided, half prescribing ivermectin, half bleach-wiping groceries. But despite our differences, there was a day during the pandemic that, to this day, reminds me of what unites us when I fear our divisions may break us.

It was after our system leadership told us that we needed to get rid of the coffee makers across all of our offices, to help stop the spread of COVID-19. In but 90 minutes our employed physicians called every Tom, Dick, and Harry they knew in-charge; senators, CEOs and probably the militia, to reinstate our beloved coffee pots. We won. The pot never even moved.

But we don’t just share a caffeine addiction and hatred for being told what we can’t do. It’s food, too. Not good food. No, I’m talking about the bad stuff; the Takis, the Ho-Hos and whatever forever-chemicals they’re made of.

I remember during a particularly bleak day of medical school, someone bringing bagels. I was working with another student and it was the first time in my life I have ever seen a woman eat three bagels in one go. Despite having the physical ability to do so myself, I had never done such a thing. How uncouth! She told me, “Sometimes you just have a three-bagel day.” Thanks to her, I still have the occasional three-bagel day. The difference is that now I wear it like a badge of honor and think about my old comrade when I do.

Later, in my residency, after seeing how bothered I was about a doomed patient, my chief resident showed me a little way that she treated herself after a tough day. The "Shasta Cocktail" she mixed up for us contained one warm and flat can of Shasta ginger ale and one plastic cup of expired cranberry juice; both stolen goods from the “fancy” orthopaedic floor. It was like chicken soup for my soul, but more syrupy. We work together, now as attendings, and if any holiday party serves the Yule Mule (the boozy Gen Z version of a Shasta cocktail), we share a knowing look, that she invented the drink years ago in a supply closet in the ICU.

Like wildebeests in the plains of Africa, another common watering hole, and some may argue, house of God, is the break room table. I don’t know where the seemingly limitless supply of salt water taffy comes from or who still buys arguably the world’s worst candy, but I do know that I’ve spent more time scraping melted taffy from the wax wrapper with my teeth than I have learning how to efficiently navigate my EMR. Am I proud? No. But when I figure out what the white “flavor” is, I will be.

All of this is to say that in a broken healthcare system, the glue that binds us is actually the cheese in Keebler cracker sandwiches and the difference between a good patient outcome and an excellent one is the supply of Coffee mate hazelnut creamer in the cafeteria. We are not the heartless AI droids the world likes to paint us as. We are human, and humans get hungry –– and when we do, we can eat together. We can laugh together at the mystery meat served in the break room while the TV displays a subtitled battle between CNN and Fox. We can forget that nations are at war and rejoice that the hospital chef did his part by serving hummus. We can break bread with our comrades and even our enemies. There’s a reason Da Vinci went with "The Last Supper" and not "The Last Group Hang."

So, for any of my fellow physicians out there feeling guilty about consuming congealed cream of something soup or Flamin' Hot Cheetos from a vending machine, don’t. Enjoy it with your colleagues. Savor it. Because it’s probably the only nice thing you’ll get today. And you, my friend, are not alone.

What's the craziest thing you've eaten at work? Share in the comments!