Well tonight is the neighborhood mixer. It’s B.Y.O.B. – Bring Your Own Beverage. The term “booze” was used in one of last year’s promotional flyers and raised eye-brows among a few of the younger folk. Guess people don’t keep a bottle of Early Times whiskey on their oak, mirrored bar in the middle of the family room anymore.
So, I thought I’d rev up my engine with a cocktail before diving into small talk with the folks who mostly know me from my golden retriever peeing in their yard on her daily walks. For whatever reason, I just don’t buy alcohol that much anymore. As a matter of fact, I’m so out of the loop that I thought the black plastic cover on top of all the liquor bottles was a to-go cup. I had no clue it is a security device to deter shoplifting.
As I’m checking out of the grocery store with my bottle of Skinnygirl Margarita, the cashier asked to see my I.D. I fumbled through the menagerie of plastic discount/frequent buyer cards in my wallet from every store in the tri-state area and failed to locate my driver’s license. I casually explained to the cashier that I accidentally left my I.D. in my pool bag.
She stopped dead in her tracks and firmly said, “I’m sorry. I can’t sell this to you without seeing your I.D.”
I said, “You’re kidding me. Right?” She was not.
Then I asked her if my crow’s-feet and gray roots made me look underage. I was wearing an over-sized men’s t-shirt with my high school’s name imprinted on it, capri yoga pants and no make-up. As a matter of fact, it’s one of my standard looks dating back to high school. Surely juvenile delinquents must put on a little make-up or wear something like an Ascot to make themselves appear older these days. Heck, with all the controversy over the hormones in cow’s milk, kids are starting to grow beards before they’re 8. No need to put on a fake one. The old crow’s-feet trick would have never entered my mind as a teen. I guess she’s heard that one before because she wasn’t amused.
Then I told her I had Projeria – the disease that makes you age really fast like Robin Williams’ character in the movie “Jack”. That, she had not heard before. It generated a little chuckle but I was still denied. I knew there was a reason I should have hung onto that fake I.D. from college. Not that is was used for underage drinking – I just liked to dance at the clubs. Anyway…
Apparently, there is a law in Indiana that states everyone has to show identification when purchasing carry out alcohol. It really is a good way to discourage underage drinking. So the nice cashier was just doing her job. The law is being changed this Summer requiring carding of people who look under 40. However, the new law won’t help me before the neighborhood mixer tonight. Besides, I may as well enjoy feeling like a young whippersnapper again because the flattery will end when the new law takes place next month.
So the real question, do I go to the party as a mature adult that is capable of making conversation without the aid of a little tequila or do I raid my parent’s liquor cabinet? On second thought, I don’t think they’ve removed the lock yet.