What was he thankful for?

I looked up from the desk just as a group of guys walked through the 3M's. Between grins, gufaws, and goretex jackets I caught the fleeting glimpse of a contraband fountain drink as they passed me. Just as the owner of the soda (whom I'll call Sal - just for the heck of it) nestled the straw between his lips again I called out.

"Excuse me, sir."

Despite the fact that I was directly addressing Sal, about ten people (including a very cute blonde girl) turned and looked right at me with "Oh, no, what did I do wrong now?" eyes. Then, before finding out what was wrong, they promptly ignored me and walked farther into the library (the blonde girl included - story of my life). I refocused and looked straight at Sal and turned up the volume a little more.

"Excuse me, but there's no food or drink allowed in the library."

Sal walked a little closer, still sipping. "Oh, it's a drink."

"I know. That's why I said no food or drink."

He took another sip. "But it's a drink."

I paused. "I know."

One of his buddies called out for him to just finish it off. Sal put on a guilty smirk for his friends and swallowed back som more soda. He turned back to me.

I deadpanned.

He relented. "Okay, where's the trash can?"

"Over there by the door."

He trudged over and took another long drag on the straw before dumping the cup in the trash.

"Thanks," I said.

"Thanks, man." He replied.

Huh? Uh, you're welcome ... I guess.