A note on ID verification for the purposes of procuring alcohol

I bought a bottle of delicious zinfandel today. I also bought bananas, peanut butter, cream cheese, bagels, and a brownie mix, but there aren't laws concerning my right to purchase those things, so they're not important to the story.

Let me say that I really, truly, honestly do not mind when the cashier asks for my ID. It can be a little tricky with the baby trying to climb out of the cart or out of my arms, but nevertheless, it doesn't bother me. Today's experience, however, was an exception to that rule.

I have no idea what this cashier's problem was. She didn't just ask for my ID. She stuck her nose in the air and slowly spelled out her orders, all while I was still unloading my shopping cart (while holding a squirming baby). I ignored her until I was finished, pushed the cart ahead of me to the bagger, and pulled out my wallet. I fished, one-handed, underneath a debit card to retrieve my ID, handed it to the cashier, and pulled out my credit card (I put everything on credit to get the points and pay it off each month). I ran it through the credit card thing and put it away (all one-handed!).

She was still studying my ID. Ok, I get it. I'm 25. Since the rule is that everyone who looks under the age of 30 should be carded, I expect to be carded. Like I said before, I don't mind being carded. But this woman? I don't think she quite believed it was my ID. She sniffed and asked to see my credit card.

Are you fucking kidding me? I've got a baby on my hip seconds from meltdown. The photo on my ID was taken 6 months ago. The glasses are the same. The hair is essentially the same. Yes, it's a crappy photo, but they're all crappy photos. One-handed, I pulled my wallet out of my pocket. One-handed, I sat it on the counter. One-handed (and while fending off the baby who at this point wanted to play with the wallet), I pulled my credit card out. She looked at it. She turned it over. She looked at it some more. She looked at me.

Finally she handed both cards back. She finished the order, I scribbled my name on the signature pad, and we left.

I was a cashier in high school. My dream was to actually deny somebody cigarettes or alcohol, to one day catch somebody who was too young. It never happened. Oh well.