A Roman walks into a bar and says "I'll have a martinus"
The bartender says "don't you mean a martini?"
At that point the Roman breaks down in sobs as the realization that he has gone out drinking so often and so consistently that the bartender cannot believe he would only order a single drink falls on him. He finally admits to himself that he does, in fact, have a problem, that he's not just a social drinker, and that what he is doing is having an adverse effect on his home life. He understands that his wife is probably cheating on him at this very second, content in the knowledge that she will not be caught, as her husband spends hours at the bar every night forgetting their marriage. He realizes that the look his children give him when he comes home at night is not childlike curiosity at where their dad has been, but worry and fear at what has become of him. He turns to leave without drinking his cocktail, throwing a peace sign to the bartender, not staying long enough to realize that the bartender had mistaken his sign as ordering five more. He gets in his car, and for the first time in years he notices the smell of alcohol and the empty, crushed beer cans littering the floor. He begins driving home, but on the highway his pain overcomes him, and he veers towards the barrier, closing his eyes in anticipation of the sweet embrace of death