May I Have Your ID?

Last Friday, right after work, I passed by the supermarket to buy some groceries. Among the items, I had a bottle of wine and a pack of Killian’s in the cart. I was going to have some friends over the next day so I wanted to get ready for it, plus a glass of wine is not a bad idea on a relaxing Friday evening.

I proceeded to an empty cashier station and as soon as I placed the wine and the 6-pack on the counter to be scanned, the cashier lady asked:

“Miss, how old are you?”

I am usually not carded, but for some reason she thought I was around 21 years-old… nice! Maybe it was the jeans and t-shirt I was wearing. So I slowly answered:

“I am, uh…… twwwenty? ….. um… twenty-eight? Hmm… Yeah! Twenty-eight!"

I don’t know why, but my mind was in a total blank when the lady asked the question. I don’t know what happened to me; I must have been really tired. To answer, I had to remember by birth year and count the difference to come up with my age (yeah, call me a weirdo…). So the cashier lady became suspicious with my answer:

“May I have your ID, please?”

Thank goodness I had my ID.