Post left in my draft queue.

Sitting at a dark bar in Seattle, I’m fiddling with my phone because Chris has gone to the restroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy movement in front of me. There are two large glasses that are either amber colored or contain amber liquid that is lacking carbonation, which have just been placed on the bar. I glance behind me expecting to see someone picking up the glasses, which I might presume are filled with cider. There is no one behind me. I look at the bartender.

“This is for me?” I stare abashedly.

“Yes,” he replies.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Water.” He stares abashedly.

I’ve just come to the realization that I’ve not been freely handed a glass of water at a bar in…forever. Nope, they don’t give you water in San Francisco unless you ask (Chris thinks it’s a holdout from the drought years). But then again, I don’t think the bars in Atlanta did, either. Or in DC.

Next night, the same thing happens as soon as we hit the stools at another place. I thank the guy as if he’s just given us the first one on the house. I’m not sure why this simple act fascinates me, it just does.