And then I went home, poured a glass of wine and continued on in my foray through the seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I blame Buffy for my failure to blog. Buffy is such great television and so much fun; she's taken up most of my spare time. But, I just started Season 7. Season 7 is super depressing. Until Fillion gets there, right? Who doesn't love a little Fillion?
In the meantime, I thought I'd update this neglected blog in an attempt to unify these two disparate facts of my existence. Following, I shall attempt to narrate the metamorphosis of the carding experience via Buffy gifs. (Trigger warning to grammarians: I will be employing the phrase "you're all like…" several times throughout this post.)
Onwards!
When you're in high school and you're trying to purchase wine coolers at the divey liquor store in the dicey neighborhood, you're all like:
But then you get to college and could reasonably pass for 21. Also you have a fake ID that can best be described as, you know, kinda convincing. So you're all:
And then comes the glorious onset of your 21st year! When the bouncer asks for your ID, you're all like:
And for the next year of so, every time someone asks for your ID, you're all like:
But you age; you grow jaded. "Jesus Christ," you say to the bouncer, "I'm 25 freaking years old!"
By 28, you are really weary of the alcohol purveyors incessant demands of proof. You've ordered a vodka tonic, for crying out loud! You're not some kid sucking on a Miller Lite!
But then something shifts. You turn 30. The carding ennui shifts into something a little more pleasurable. You want to see my ID? Really? Me?
By 35, you know the beer vendor at the ballpark cards everyone. But you don't care. You are LOVING it!
But then you go for a post-game drink and the doorman at Yahkzees just waves you in.
By 40, you just want the grocery store clerk to scan through your goddamn wine so you can get home, finish the laundry and make sure the kids get their homework done. When he asks for ID, you hand it over. But you're thinking:
Which takes us to the present time. You're 45. You have wrinkles! Your almost pubescent daughter is standing there with you and your other purchases are Ibuprofen and trouser socks and you cannot believe the manager at Target, who took like 15 minutes to get over to your lane, is SERIOUSLY asking you to pull your driver's license out of your messy wallet. And OH MY GOD….
Now that I'm here, I find myself feeling a little nostalgic - memories of the hangover-free benders of my distant youth, when bouncers really looked at my ID. Alas, those days are gone. All the cardings now are courtesy cards or because someone's boss has told them to card literally everyone. It makes me a little sad. But...
