It wasn’t too long ago, maybe 10 years or so, that I was last carded. The college-age waiter was probably bucking for a big tip as he checked out my ID, but it felt nice. My favorite moment of being carded, only a year or so earlier, was while checking out at Central Market. The cashier was giving me some major evil eye; I thought she might be a lesbian and that was her sexy look, or maybe she thought I’d stolen something? (it was quite an evil eye) when finally, after the conveyor belt of foodies displayed coho salmon, endive salad, an expensive Prosecco, and dark chocolate, she asked “could I see your ID?”
Ahhhhh, yes! Of course! My ID!!! really??? then wondered how many women under 21 bought that level of taste and sophistication for dinner.
Fastforward to yesterday when I picked up a couple of bottles of wine and some beer for a party I was attending. The guy, a nerdy middleaged man, asked to see my ID….. um, why?…. (I look roughly my age, emphasis on ‘roughly’ with the rainy weather)
Him: I thought you might qualify for a senior’s discount
Me: (showing my ID while evil-eyeing him)
Him: Oh, you’re not quite there yet! I’ll be there in a couple of years, looks like you’ll get there sooner!
Was he trying to make me feel good about almost making it to the fucking senior’s discount?
I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or ball punch the prick. Considering there was the foodie conveyor belt between us, punching him in the balls was out, and I wasn’t in the mood to get moody over this shit, so I laughed and walked away with my booze.
Then proceeded to get pretty schnockered at the party.
I have nothing against senior discounts and intend to use them ALL when I get there, but this idiot’s social skills could render him a eunuch someday…