An Irish man walks into a pub and orders three pints of Guinness.
The bartender sets them down, and the man sips from each pint in turn — a sip from the first, a sip from the second, a sip from the third — then repeats, round and round, until all three are empty.
Then he orders three more.
“You know,” says the bartender, “you don’t have to order three at once. I’ll keep an eye on you and bring you a fresh one when you’re low.”
“You don’t understand,” the man says. “I have two brothers — one in Australia, one in the States. We promised that every Saturday night we’d still drink together. So right now, they’re in their local pubs, sipping on three Guinness too.”
“Wow, that’s a wonderful tradition!” the bartender says.
For weeks, the man comes in every Saturday night and orders three pints. Same time. Same stool. Same routine. One sip from the first, one from the second, one from the third.
Then one Saturday, the bartender notices something’s changed. The man orders only two pints. He drinks them the same way — alternating sips — and when they’re empty, he orders two more.
The next week, it’s the same thing. And the week after that. Finally, one quiet evening, the bartender sets the glasses down and leans in. “I couldn’t help but notice… you’ve only been ordering two lately. I think I know what that means, and I’m very sorry for your loss.”
The man looks up, completely calm. “Oh, my brothers are fine,” he says. “I just quit drinking.”