Setting: A cozy little pub in Berlin. The two friends, Lukas (the rational thinker) and Jonas (the superstitious one), are sitting at a wooden table by the window. They’ve just ordered drinks—Lukas has a large glass of sparkling water, Jonas a pint of beer.
Jonas: (holding up his glass) Prost!
Lukas: (grinning and lifting his glass of water) Prost!
Jonas: (eyes widening, almost dropping his beer) WHOA! What are you doing?
Lukas: Uh… toasting? With my very harmless, very non-lethal glass of water?
Jonas: You can’t toast with water, Lukas! That’s like… wishing death on me. You want me dead?
Lukas: (laughs) Seriously? Jonas, come on. You know that’s a myth, right?
Jonas: It’s not just a myth. It’s an old tradition. In Germany, toasting with water is bad luck. Ancient Greeks believed it too—you toast with water to honor the dead. I’m not ready for the grave, bro.
Lukas: I promise, the only thing dying here is your logic. Look, I’ve toasted with water at least a hundred times. Everyone I did it with? Still alive and texting me annoying memes daily.
Jonas: Yet. They’re alive yet. That’s like saying, “I’ve jaywalked a hundred times and never been hit by a car.” Doesn’t make it safe.
Lukas: (grinning) Touché. But we’re not talking about jaywalking—we’re talking about drinking water. The life-giving, health-recommended-by-doctors kind of water.
Jonas: It’s not about the water itself. It’s the symbolism. Toasting is meant to celebrate life. Water doesn’t do that. It’s too… neutral. Lifeless.
Lukas: I’m pretty sure hydration is life, Jonas. If I switched to beer right now, my kidneys would write a strongly-worded letter to my liver.
Jonas: Look, you’re the science guy. Surely you understand cultural psychology. These traditions have meaning. When you break them, it feels… off. It’s like clapping between movements at a classical concert.
Lukas: Okay, now that is offensive to civilization.
Jonas: See? Same energy.
Lukas: Alright, fair. But traditions evolve. We used to believe sneezing expelled demons. Doesn’t mean I’m carrying an exorcism kit every allergy season.
Jonas: But don’t you ever feel… weird breaking these rituals? Like when someone walks under a ladder or breaks a mirror?
Lukas: I do feel weird, but that’s because we’re conditioned to feel that way. It’s not the act—it’s the association. And that can be rewired. Like how I used to believe eating before swimming would drown me instantly. Spoiler: I survived every soggy cannonball.
Jonas: (laughing) Okay, that one I believed too. My mom used to set a strict 45-minute timer after lunch before we were allowed near the pool. Like digestion was some sacred underwater ceremony.
Lukas: Exactly! And we grew out of it. You can grow out of this too. Imagine the freedom! Toast with any liquid! Even soup!
Jonas: (mock horror) Soup?! You monster.
Lukas: Look, if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll clink my glass quietly. No pressure. But I just think we should stop letting ancient toasts dictate our modern friendships.
Jonas: That’s poetic, actually. “Let not old toasts decide the fate of our schnitzel nights.”
Lukas: Trademark that. Put it on a mug.
Jonas: You know what? Next time, I’ll try to toast with water. But only if you promise not to toast with milk. That’s just… weird.
Lukas: Deal. No dairy toasts. We have to draw the line somewhere.
[They clink glasses—water and beer—with a warm smile. No one dies.]
Science Vs Superstition 
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