So you’re out with Rebecca and Allan at a sprawling Japanese restaurant downtown, and you need another glass of water. And it goes like this.

Hmm. Should you ask Rebecca or Allan?

Actually, why would you need to do that? You’re a grown-up woman, you can order water perfectly fine by yourself. No need to make yourself dependent on them. And you’re seated at the edge of the table, so you’re well-positioned to grab the attention of your server. You just need to ask her.

You can’t see her now. You barely remember what she looks like, and you’ve had other servers come across to deliver plates, so maybe they just rotate servers? So maybe you don’t have to wait for her to come around, you can just request a glass of water from anyone? It feels kind of weird, but what could they say? “Sorry, I’m not responsible for this zone, please wait until Alyssa comes back, I’ll see if I can find her for you”? No. You’re in the clear.

You scan the room, across the rows of tables, for servers. Or anyone who could look like a server. In low lighting it’s actually kind of hard to distinguish the servers from the patrons. You know you’re looking for a black shirt and black apron, a Momoguchi logo emblazoned above the heart, upright comportment. But the logo’s tiny, and everyone’s outfits look like various shades of dark. Okay, how socially catastrophic is it if you accidentally ask a customer for water? Will they be scandalised? “Ma’am, do I look like I work here?”

A server passes by. You can tell she’s a server. She’s not your original server, but who cares? Now you just have to get her attention. Ay, there’s the rub. She’s walking by, two tables away, but in her arms she’s balancing a complete array of dishes to serve to another party, and she’s clearly not looking in your direction.

How do you alert her? Raising your hand would be the conventional way to do this, but with all of the serving she’s about to do, you’ll probably have your hand raised for a long time, a good minute or two. And not only is that going to strain your arm muscles and prevent you from eating during that minute or two, you’ll also earn weird looks from the other patrons. Lady, what the hell are you doing? Can’t you see the server’s busy? She’ll get back to you when she gets back to you. You’re making a scene. Don’t be a Karen.

Should you shout? Something like “excuse me”? Let’s not resort to that yet, with all the platters she’s balancing that could be distracting.

So hand-raising it shall have to be, but the trick is that you’ll have to time the raising of your hand so that she’ll notice you within the first several seconds of your hand being raised. Then she’ll give you a knowing nod, I’ll come back for you after I’m done serving these dishes, and you can lower your hand, and it won’t be awkward anymore.

You wait for an appropriate opening in which to execute Operation Hand-Raise.

And bam! Just as quickly as she finishes serving the other party their meals, Let me know if you need anything else, she passes through the kitchen doors, out of sight.

At least you didn’t actually raise your hand.

A minute later another server walks into the room. His hands are empty, and he’s strolling with leisurely air to another table. Also he’s kinda cute, but that’s another matter. No excuses now, you tell yourself. No distraction. You really need this glass of water. Kind of pretty soon.

Operation Hand-Raise, Mark II. You set your fork down, smooth your napkin, and ready your arm. You watch him intently in anticipation of when he’s going to glance your way. The only trouble is, this is harder than you expected! At several moments you think he’s going to cast his gaze fleetly upon your table, so you subtly shift the altitude of your arm by a few inches, but he doesn’t, so you lower your arm back to its standby position.

“Lauren?” Allan asks. “What are you doing?”

“You’re doing this weird noncommittal arm dance,” notes Rebecca, imitating you with shivering arm movements, mock-timorous gestures.

You glare at both of them.

“Oh, do you need something?” Allan perceives that your glass is empty. “Water?”

“No, she just thinks the waiter’s cute.” Rebecca chuckles. “Water!” she cries.

The server whips around and nods directly at your table, with a smooth, clean-shaven smile. You realise your arm is still hanging limply at half-mast, so you lower it back down to table height.

There are many things you want to say to Rebecca, but all you manage to actually say is, “Thank you.” And fifteen seconds later the server comes back around to fill your glass with his pitcher of water. Easy.

And that is how it goes.