Glass of Water, Pretty Please?

   You cannot believe how hard it can be to get a glass of water here. I mean, if you collapsed on the street, people would be falling all over themselves to help you, any number of them wanting to bring you water, take you to the hospital, call your mother.

   But asking for a glass of water in a restaurant can make you feel as small as the drip coming out of your faucet.

   Take yesterday. I walked to my high street for a spot of light lunch. Gotta get out of the house somehow. I usually confine my paid daytime excursions to a cappuccino over the afternoon paper (they still have an afternoon paper here, amazingly) at one of my local cafes, but yesterday, I decided to splurge and actually have lunch sitting outside instead.

   I ordered a salad and then quietly, a glass of tap water. It's always a bit uncomfortable asking for water. They don't give it to you with your meal, like in the States, so you have to ask. Usually, they bring it happily enough, with only the slightest curl of the upper lip. Even though, of course, they'd always much rather you pay up to $4 for a little bottle of mineral water (I can get a case of mineral water from my Italian vendor for that price). 

   But yesterday, the waitress just openly gave me a dirty look when I asked. A grimace, almost. This from a young woman who spoke so little English she barely understood my order.

   She whipped out the specials menu, showing me the salad I had just ordered with a soft drink -- for only $2 more, not $4. "Good deal," she said twice, with a heavy Eastern European accent.

   Problem was, this wasn't about the money. I actually wanted water, (with ice even), not a soft drink, but who can stand the pressure? And the implication that you're just a cheap shit from the wrong side of the Atlantic?   

   So I caved, and ordered the special with a Diet Coke.

   Another upper lip curl. This time, her face saying, "I knew you were going to order that. Americans always order Diet Coke." 

   A furtive glance down at my hips. "You're not even that fat and you want Diet Coke," her face went on.

   Lunch might've been a bad idea. Cappuccino later is usually uneventful. All the Eastern Europeans who work at the place I get my cappuccino are nicer.