This New York predilection for continually refilling your coffee, Orange juice or coke juxtaposes with my catholic upbringing and my mothers wishes that I always clean my plate. People in Africa, I hear her whine, would be grateful of that Orange juice.
I wondered briefly if I could plead this point with my gender-challenged waiter/waitress.
Instead, I took the cowards way out and stopped sipping. Now I imagine them tut-tutting and tagging me as ungrateful and spoilt, as they carry my full untouched glass back the slop bin in the kitchen. Or maybe they bottle it and send it to Africa?