Evening hang with some friends. We decide to go to a bar. Grab some drinks. Band is tuning in the corner. Sit down on a couch. Everyone’s chatting.
All of a sudden, the sprinklers start spraying, as if there’s a fire. We’re getting drenched. Water dripping down our faces. In our drinks. Overwhelming water.
I stand up to leave. “Oh, look at that. The sprinklers are running!” Stacy grins. Mark smiles. Paul doesn’t react. Stephanie and Hope are chatting, oblivious to the water streaming over them, ruining their drinks, their electronics, their clothes. Nobody moves.
It’s happening again. My frustration boils. “What are you guys doing? We have to go!” Stacy looks concerned. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Is it the sprinklers?” she asks.
Mutual incomprehension. I can’t believe my eyes. “I have to go. I’ll see you guys later.” Everyone says bye. Stephanie and Hope don’t notice, but I’m not going to waste my time getting their attention.
I step outside. I’m soaked. Pull out my phone. Black screen. Shake my arms, start wringing out my shirt.
Look in the window. The sprinklers are still going. It’s basically raining in the bar. A woman is stirring her Aperol while water streams over the edge of the glass. The drink is clear, no trace of its original orange color left. I can see the orange slice floating towards the edge of the table. It falls off onto the floor, except there’s no floor, just several inches of water, covering her ankles.
Shaking my head, I turn away. At home, I dry myself off. Then I proceed to have the best two hours and 34 minutes I’ve had in weeks.