21. 21st Amendment.
Hahah, ok, so I had to write this down while it’s still fresh.
As part of my I’m-21-so-I-can-buy-booze thingy, I decided to buy some beer. The first place I went to didn’t card me. Fuckers, card me dammit! Please? So, after drinking the bottle, I decided to go again-this time to a different place.
When I put my delicious bottle of Hefeweißen on the counter, the clerk asked for my ID. I was overjoyed, and happily handed it to her. She looked at it, then at me, then back at the ID before saying something in what I can only guess was English.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re too young.”
Are you kidding me? I quickly pulled out my cell phone and flipped to the date, clearly showing her that, indeed, I’m 21 as of today, August 18th, 2004.
Her finger shook at me. “Come back tomorrow. You’re too young.” She was determined, and the guy next to her behind the counter didn’t seem to care that she was denying me alcohol on this, my governmentally sanctioned day of right. Are you fucking kidding me, I was thinking. How does someone get a job when their arithmetic is so fucking bad? Listen, you old hag, sell me the booze. I’ve worked too hard for this moment!
After some bantering and with a befuddled look on my face, I went down ave A to another store. There, I set a six-pack on the counter. The teller rang me up, didn’t ask for ID, but looked at me a little strange. Boy, I was hoping for that nice little phrase that would allow me to flash my newfound, ridiculously before-withheld right of alcohol possession, but no, she said: “I like your shirt.” Dammit!
So, I’m “of age” now, but I want the recognition. I better not go the whole night without a successful carding. I think I’ll take my passport out with me tonight in case they look at me and think I have a really good fake.
As part of my I’m-21-so-I-can-buy-booze thingy, I decided to buy some beer. The first place I went to didn’t card me. Fuckers, card me dammit! Please? So, after drinking the bottle, I decided to go again-this time to a different place.
When I put my delicious bottle of Hefeweißen on the counter, the clerk asked for my ID. I was overjoyed, and happily handed it to her. She looked at it, then at me, then back at the ID before saying something in what I can only guess was English.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re too young.”
Are you kidding me? I quickly pulled out my cell phone and flipped to the date, clearly showing her that, indeed, I’m 21 as of today, August 18th, 2004.
Her finger shook at me. “Come back tomorrow. You’re too young.” She was determined, and the guy next to her behind the counter didn’t seem to care that she was denying me alcohol on this, my governmentally sanctioned day of right. Are you fucking kidding me, I was thinking. How does someone get a job when their arithmetic is so fucking bad? Listen, you old hag, sell me the booze. I’ve worked too hard for this moment!
After some bantering and with a befuddled look on my face, I went down ave A to another store. There, I set a six-pack on the counter. The teller rang me up, didn’t ask for ID, but looked at me a little strange. Boy, I was hoping for that nice little phrase that would allow me to flash my newfound, ridiculously before-withheld right of alcohol possession, but no, she said: “I like your shirt.” Dammit!
So, I’m “of age” now, but I want the recognition. I better not go the whole night without a successful carding. I think I’ll take my passport out with me tonight in case they look at me and think I have a really good fake.