Okay, so when I was visiting my sister last week, the first thing we did after my plane landed, was to go and have an embarrassingly enormous breakfast. The second thing was hit the supermarket, because (a) I knew she wouldn’t have any food in her apartment, and (b) I needed wine. And chocolate.
When we got to the checkout, the girl asked who was buying the wine. I said, “Either one of us, it doesn’t matter. I’m paying, if that’s what you mean.” And she said, “I need to know who’s buying the wine, because if it’s her (points to my sister) then I need an ID, but if it’s you (points to me) I don’t.” Ok. I will now pause here to let you ponder this statement………………………………………………..I am sure that you are as shocked as I was, because really, I don’t look a day over 21. Right? I mean sure, the mustache makes me look mature, but I was mustache-free that day since I suspect that it also makes me look crazy and/or terroristy and I was flying and stuff, and the last thing I needed on a very rare child and husband-free vacation is to be taken down by an air marshall and cavity searched and waterboarded. So anyway, I said “Excuse me? You don’t need an ID from me? Isn’t there a rule where if someone looks under 35 you should card them? Don’t I look under 35? Hello?” And she just looks at me like she hates her life and wishes I would go die.
So, while I bitched and complained I showed her my ID and paid for the groceries and we went on our way, talking about how totally rude she was. And of course I looked for reassurance from my sister that I did not look over 35, and since she’s not only my sister but is intelligent enough to know that I am not at all above kicking her ass, she gave it to me.
Fast forward to Sunday, when I’m getting my receipts together so that the husband can get his Quicken boner taken care of. As I’m putting the supermarket receipt in the pile, I notice something:
|This Devil receipt says my birthdate is 12/12/1912.
And Turkey is spelled wrong.
So not only is that cashier an a-hole, but her cash register is a total idiot.
Now, although I actually witnessed the cashier typing in the birthday, I am hoping that maybe there is some reason that this particular store maybe uses that date as a catch-all date for people over 21. Do any of you know anything about a rule like this? Because, man…I’d hate to think she is that
mean. Although she did seem pretty hateful. And I don’t really have a super amount of faith in humanity and their ability to not be totally bitchy. Given, I HAD just gotten off of a plane, which means I was possibly a bit puffy. And I DID get up at 4:00 am, which means I maybe had bags under my eyes. And my birthday IS 12/14, which is close to 12/12. But my year is nowhere near
1912. And if you remember from my vacation blog
, those guys at the bar told me I looked 28. Tweny-freakin’-eight!! They even asked to see my ID for proof that I was actually 38! Surely they meant that. And surely it had everything to do with my looks and nothing at all to do with my maturity level. Right?
All I can say, is that cashier and that stupid register of hers had better thank their lucky stars that I am now 745 miles away and neither PMS-ing nor in possession of my own private plane, helicopter, jet pack or teleporter, because if my hormones were just a little more fired up and I had fast transportation, I would so go to Marsh’s Sunfresh Market and kick some ass.
* UPDATE* My friend Pennie has informed me that on the Devil receipt, above my fake birthday, it says “Wholly Guacamole.” I am so ashamed that I missed that! I guess when you’re 98 years old your eyesight’s just not as good as it once was.