I went out to the bars with people on Friday and Saturday night this past weekend, which, as you all know, is pretty unremarkable by itself. The strange part was that, for the first time in my entire life (including when I was using a fake ID), I was asked for a second form of ID. This happened not just for the first time alone, but also for the second, third, fourth, and fifth times.
Not only was I asked for a second form, but I was then grilled about my middle name, address, and birthday. At one unclassy place (a shed that happens to be red) the bouncer even turned to my friends and asked them what my real name was. Obviously I passed these tests, because I actually am Andy Stravers, age 24.
I understand that I look different than on my ID, because that was 8 years ago when I was 16. Does a beard and longer hair actually make me look younger? Does looking older actually make this class of bouncers wonder if I am too young? I wouldn't have thought twice about it if it had happened once or even twice, but it was a unanimous opinion amongst these gatekeepers of post-9 pm alcohol. Every bar. WTF?
On a completely different subject, I have realized that living with Wayne for the past three years has made me take bread completely for granted. It was simply always there by massive quantity and variety. I arrive home from grocery shopping with sandwich meat, brats, hot dogs, burgers, and other products that rely on bread, only to realize that I skipped past the bread aisle without a second thought. Tiz a sad day when bread is no longer free and abundant.