Here’s what happens when you walk up to the door of a bar or club and make a federal case out of getting carded:
The bouncer – the one you’ve just alienated – is thinking you’re a dick because he likely just spent the entire day working at some shitbag job he hates, in most cases doing some hard-assed kind of manual labor that has his joints screaming to be put to bed, and now you’re acting as though he’s putting you out by asking you to take your lousy fucking drivers license out of a stupid fucking sleeve in your wallet.
You’re acting as though sighing and looking away will make him experience bottomless pangs of regret as a result of asking you to do this. If you behave in this manner, you are a dick – and your girlfriend is an even bigger dick for allowing you to ejaculate inside of her.
Here’s what happens when you walk up to the door of a bar of club and make a federal case out of not getting carded:
Motherfucker, you’re old. Trust me, the “Aren’t you gonna card me?” joke, coming from some forty-eight year-old divorcee operating on her fifth rhytidectomy, stopped being funny back in 1974. We’ll smile at you as you pass because, by dint of being “of age,” you’re saving us the hassle of having to scrutinize your license for fear of losing our jobs. For us, it’s a momentary relief. Smile back and move on.
I know a lot of bouncers read this site. Here is what I want you all to do from now on:
1. When people try to walk past you without acknowledging your existence – or, to be more precise, without acknowledging the legal necessity of acknowledging your existence – card them. No matter how old they appear to be, make them stop and show you some identification. And if there’s anything wrong with it – any little thing, whether it’s expired or the picture looks a little off – don’t let them in.
2. Here in
Strep makes me hallucinate, but the dreams, this time, haven’t been particularly entertaining.