Went up to the local shopping mall and was accosted by a charity worker. We started talking and I agreed to give them a donation (seriously, charity is one of the biggest drains on my finances - I'm an idiot). She paused for a second and frowned at me, then she asks me: "Before we go on, can I ask how old you are?"
I laughed and told her. She was about my age or younger herself.
"Wow," she exclaimed. "No way. I would've guessed eighteen at oldest. I wasn't even sure."
Unsure whether or not it was misguided flattery, though still mildly amused, I concluded my business with her and wandered through the shops. I finally came to the liquor store where I selected something and made my way to the checkout.
The chick carded me. So I showed her my ID and asked how old she thought I was, curious.
"Oh, about eighteen. But, you know, we need to check if you look younger than twenty-five."
Grumbling to myself, I wandered out of the store and tried to decide what to have for lunch. I shrugged and made my way to the pub, intent on getting something tasty. With a mental shrug, I ordered a small beer to go with what I ordered (yes, it was early, but it was one tiny bloody beer!).
Got asked for ID. Eighteen. Yeah. FFFFFFFFFF-!
You know, it's flattering up until the point it gets old. Ironically.
- PS: here's a hint, bartenders. When a young person orders a single small beer with a #@$@%ing medium-rare steak and Dianne sauce, you shouldn't need to card them. Don't be asinine. It's fairly clear they're not there to get wasted in some sort of underage binge-drinking fest.
7 years, 3 months ago
18 Sep 2011 08:31 CEST