A Skeptic’s Life

“Huh,” Berta said.

“What?” Margo asked.

“I don’t believe you,” Berta said.

“Why not? It’s a simple thing. You open the faucet, water comes out. You close it, it stops. The water is held behind a gate, which lets the liquid flow in and out, depending on if you open or close it.”

“And where is all this water stored? In the ceiling? In the ground, and pumped up?”

“Well, we’re on a municipal system here, so it’s all pumped from a main purification system.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then how do you explain how it all works?” Margo asked.

“Simple. Rain is stored in the ceiling, gradually seeps down to the pipes, which then delivers water to the tap. And, as you say, gate system. Open or close.”

“That would keep you precariously close to dying of thirst basically all the time.”

“You underestimate how much rain there is.”

“Why are you so skeptical of this?”

“I’m a skeptic. It’s my job.”

“I thought you lot were supposed to be skeptical of dubious science, not of everything.”

“Better to be skeptical of everything,” Berta said. “Then when science is wrong, you’re still right.”

Margo frowned at this, not quite certain it added up.

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