My brother Al did this funny impression of a 90-year-old woman when we were kids. It still makes me laugh today. He was so cute, all hunched over, with a walking cane, a shaky voice and one hand to his ear, "What's that? Eh? Speak up sonny, I can't hear ya."
That's what came to mind at Trader Joe's today. I went there to get a few things (oh damn, forgot butter). You know, wine, cheese, chocolate. Okay, a salad and hummus too. Anyway, at the checkout, the cashier asked if I had I.D.
For a split second, I thought it was because I was paying with a credit card. But he stopped scanning my items, waiting for something...
ME: "eye-dee? Like my driver's license?"
ME: "For what?"
He raised his bushy eyebrows and held up a bottle of wine, like I was trying to pull a fast one on him.
ME: "For that?!"
ME: "Are you kidding?"
ME: "I don't have it. I left it in the car."
HIM: "Do you wanna run out and get it real quick?" He was dead serious.
ME: "No, I'd like to take you over my knee and smack your puny little ass."
Okay, I'm kidding. I didn't really say that.
Before anyone asks, no, I was not flattered. I felt put out. And when he noticed how I felt, that's when he made me get my I.D. - the little punk. Like he's got no authority anywhere else in his life so he's gotta reach for it and be all, oooh, look at me, I have the power to withhold alcohol from you.
I know I look younger than I really am, but younger than twenty-one?! Come on. That's really stretching it. Especially up close, with no makeup on, in the bright sunlight. And believe me, I look a lot older when I'm pissed off.
Wrinkles wrinkles bo-binkles, banana fanna fo-finkles meeemyyymoe minkles - wrinkles! [sorry, too much Mraz on the brain]
It's been over ten years since I last got carded. I expect it at the door of a nightclub but at Trader Joe's? Never. Not once. OK once. But that's because he was young and cute and hitting on me. Then Ifelt flattered. Today, not so much! Not young, not cute, and definitely not hitting on me.
Next time I'm brining my cane.