July 12, 2004


I drink alcohol. I'm of age. Plenty past the minimum age to purchase and imbibe restricted beverages of whatever sort I may desire.

It's been a long long long while since anyone selling such age-limited beverages has ever asked for proof of my age. I've gotten used to this. I think. But part of me misses being carded every now and again.

Usually I do the grocery shopping. It's one of my household chores. And I enjoy it. But sometimes we go together, Wendy and I. Like the day I'm going to tell you about. We picked up a twelve-pack of beer for our refrigerator. Well not actually for our refrigerator because our refrigerator runs on a different type of juice. It was for us. Truth be told, we picked up two twelve-packs of beer because she likes one type and I like another. We both like cheap beer however. Because we are of a frugal nature perhaps. Or maybe we just don't have good taste. Or maybe cheap beer tastes good to us. Which it does.

So we had two twelve-packs of cheap beer mingled in with our zucchini, fudgesicles, and pork chops. And cat food. And assorted other things we keep around the house to assuage our hunger pains or cravings as needed. Wendy was up by the cashier and I was in the back behind the cart unloading our goods onto the conveyor belt. The cashier was about to ring up the beer when she looked at Wendy and said "May I see your ID please?"

A quick aside here is a necessary part of this story. About a week prior, Wendy's driver's license along with her bank card and a small amount of cash were stolen from her car. She had inadvertantly left them on the seat of her car after picking up lunch. Some prick had smashed her car window right there in the parking lot of her office and helped themselves. People suck that way sometimes.

Okay back to the grocery store line. Because Wendy had not yet received her replacement ID, she looked at me and asked "Do you have your ID with you?" The cashier also glanced over at me. And then she said "Oh! Is she with you? Well I don't need to see her ID!" as she proceeded to ring up the beer.

Now because I'm an easy going sort and often see humor where others may not, I burst out laughing. Borderline hysterical laughter, but more amused. The cashier looked up at me and actually had the grace to blush. Because she realized what she had done. Not implied. Stated. Unequivocally. I look old. Plenty old. We all then shared a laugh together because it was funny.

On this past trip to NC, we stopped at the Red Apple gas station to pick up some beer. They didn't have our cheap beer of choice, so we settled for Miller Lite. I got in line behind two men, also purchasing beer. The lady behind the counter (oddly not Russian as we'd come to expect during our short visit but rather an older local lady) dutifully asked each in turn for his ID. So when it was my turn to check out, I said with a smile "Aren't you going to ask for my ID?" She laughed while covering her mouth with one hand (but not before I noticed she only had one tooth in the front on top!). Evidently the thought of asking me for my ID was the most humorous idea she'd heard all day.

Plenty old. And I look it. Argh. Might as well laugh.

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