The Ol’ ID Trickerooni

“Will it just be the six pack and the dark chocolate?” The store owner asks, moving the scanner toward the two items.

“Mmhm, movie night for one.” She replies.

“Beats workin’ ‘till 3am.” He refrains the scanner from the six pack, then looks at the woman. She stares back. “ID?”

She laughs, “You trying to get cheeky with me, young man?” Whilst asking, her hands move to sit on her hips.

“You don’t look a day past eighteen.” He responds, yet still refuses to scan her alcohol. Silence falls between them, the woman taps her long nails on the desk.

“You’re joking right?” Her laughing stops. “You can’t see the wrinkles?”

“Wrinkles? What wrinkles?” He says, setting his scanner back down on its holster.

“Heh, alright… Joke’s over. I’ve got lasagna in the oven at home waiting for me.” She waves her hand, dismissive to the façade.

“I can’t sell you this alcohol without an ID, store rules.”

“I understand that you’re trying to flatter me, but for goodness sakes, I was born in the seventies!” With her raised voice, the store owner backs away by a step and reaches for the phone on the wall. “Are you serious!? I’m graying and I’ve got whiskers in places a young lady shouldn’t have whiskers!”

“It is my right to refuse service; your yelling is threatening to me, I am beginning to feel unsafe.” He slowly removes the phone from the wall. “This can all be solved if you show me your ID.”

“I left it at home, can’t you see I’m wearing my comfies? This is absolutely bizarre, I haven’t had to show my ID since I was in my early thirties!” The woman throws the chocolate bar onto the table and turns to exit.

“Well, that didn’t go accordingly to plan.” Murmurs the shop owner.

“You’re not supposed to wait until she gives you the ID, idiot. You have to make her feel young, and then give her the alcohol anyway.” Comes the voice of a janitor in a nearby aisle.



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