I think a lot about the best drink order I ever witnessed.
I was at the late, great Alcatraz, a metal bar on the corner of St. Mark’s and A one evening in the mid-1990s, and a disgusted looking gentleman walked in and slumped down on the bar stool next to me.
“Glass’a shit on the rocks”, he grumbled to the bartender.
A moment later, the bartender grabbed a bottle of the cheapest whiskey they had in the place, threw some ice in a rocks glass, and poured the gentleman his drink.
Before drinking even a drop of it, the look of disgust had disappeared from the gentleman’s face, replaced by a smile, the kind of smile a person gets when they feel truly understood by another person.
“Thank you”, he said.