“Oh, darling, you simply must get them a drink,” said the woman at the bar. “Something to get their date going.”

The woman and her companion were the last two people in the bar. The little TVs were off, the big one was showing a rerun of “Bonanza” and there were cardboard boxes of products for stocking lined up on the bar top.

They also looked like they wanted some privacy — or at least the man did. He was turned awkwardly in his seat, trying to look deeply into her eyes. She was avoiding his gaze by looking straight ahead. His unnatural contouring ensured that he was as close to her as possible without actually touching her.

“Darling,” she said as I lined up the bottles of Bud Light in the lower refrigerator.

It was on the third “darling” that I realized the “darling” in question was me. I stood up and wiped my hands on my apron.

“Yes,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“The couple in the dining room,” she said.

It was a complete sentence. Of course, it didn’t mean anything to me, but sometimes people you don’t know think that you do know. I’m not sure why they think that. But take it from me, they do. White wine. Martini. Beer. Some people think that’s all the information a bartender should need. It isn’t. But just try telling them that. The ignorance of one’s own beliefs sometimes blinds people to the reality of others.

“There are several couples in the dining room,” I said, which is true at every closing.

New couples often like to linger in empty restaurants. The longest lingering is usually from those couples who have only — as of yet — interacted vertically. Once the horizontal enters into the equation, the lingering usually becomes less.

“Susan and Tom,” said the woman, angling her head to look over the man half turned in between us.

“What about them?” I asked.

And upon reflection, I now realize that was a bit terse. But seven and a half hours of continual customer service can do that to you.

“I want to get them a drink,” she said.

“Sure,” I said.

“What would you like to get them?” I added, figuring we’d get the “who” figured out once we got the “what” down.

“I don’t know. What do you suggest?” she asked.

“A glass of champagne?” I asked.

“A glass of wine?” I asked.“No,” she said.

“Another round of what they were drinking?” I asked.

“Boring,” she said.

She practically slapped her companion’s hand away as it made itself further around her.

“How about something sexy?”

Something seemed peculiar about the whole arrangement, not just the particular players. In my lengthy career, I have seen people send other people drinks for a variety of reasons: birthdays, engagements, affairs and even breakups. People often have specific motives for doing so. Sometimes they just don’t let you know what they are. Once I had a man’s friend send some drinks as a way to confront his friend’s wife, whom he thought was cheating on her husband. Turned out, it was her uncle, and the whole thing turned rather distasteful pretty quickly. No bartender worth his margarita salt is going to be your agent for the embarrassment of another. It makes for poor business.

“You do know these people?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“And this isn’t going to embarrass anyone, right?” I asked.

“Of course not,” she said. “Do you think I am that unawares?”

I did notice that she and her date were in an empty room, and that she was still sitting at a bar piled up high with products for restocking. The overhead lights were on, the music was off and she also didn’t seem to realize the guy she was with thought this was some kind of date and not a friend-stalking mission. So, my confidence in her general awareness was not high.

We finally settled on something “sexy and creamy.” The server was only too happy to hear that the couple at the bar didn’t want to be identified. Taking credit for someone else’s generosity is a great way to increase a tip — just saying.

The drinks went out and I resumed stocking the Bud Light. Ten minutes later, I heard another “darling” but this time I knew it was for me.

“How’s it going in there?” she asked, pointing at the dining room.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Let me check.”

The dining room was empty. When I asked the server, she said the couple had downed the shots and left immediately.

Leaving me with these thoughts:

• When the rewards of going outweigh the benefits of staying, that’s generally when people finally leave.

• If your date is ultra concerned about someone else’s date, then you probably aren’t actually on a real date.

• Vicarious living, like vicarious eating or vicarious drinking, is never as rewarding as the real thing.

• I am guessing date No. 3 for the couple in the dining room — and probably the first and only date for that couple at the bar.

Jeff Burkhart is the author of “Twenty Years Behind Bars: The Spirited Adventures of a Real Bartender, Vol. I and II,” the host of the Barfly Podcast on iTunes (as seen in the NY Times) and an award-winning bartender at a local restaurant. Follow him at jeffburkhart.net and contact him at jeffbarflyIJ@outlook.com