It happened again … but this time, he didn’t even ask!
Remember when you were in your forties, and you got carded at the checkout counter for the purchase of alcohol? Didn’t that feel great!
“Really?” you asked, “Don’t I look over twenty-one?” You made of show of getting your driver’s license out of your wallet and batting your eyelashes with a sheepish grin.
That doesn’t happen anymore. Now when I purchase alcohol, not only do I not get carded, but the checker also ignores the sign stating the purchase quantity limit and allows me to buy ten bottles of vodka at the sale price. I must look like I need it. Either that or I look like somebody you don’t want to argue with. I guess it’s okay either way.
But I didn’t feel the same way about what happened last week. I was given the senior discount for a movie ticket, and I wasn’t even asked to present my identification! Who cares? Right? I saved a few bucks. I hadn’t been to a movie in ages and was really looking forward to it. But no, I couldn’t let it go. First, I showed my friend … and not getting the sympathy and outrage that I thought I deserved, I stomped back to the ticket counter and showed the kid that he gave me the wrong ticket! How ridiculous that I was letting a twelve-year-old get under my skin!
As I was standing at the counter demanding to pay more for the ticket, my friend grabbed me by the elbow with a gentle reminder that the movie theater had a bar and that we should get our cocktails before the show started. Good friends are wonderful, aren’t they! And before you ask … yes, we both had to present our IDs … but there were no warm and fuzzy feelings. We had to swipe our ID cards to unlock the wine dispenser. I’m pretty sure the next time we go to the theater, wine will be dispensed by a robot.
After a few sips and several calming breaths, I felt more relaxed. I rolled my eyes and crinkled my nose … my friend was right. I had overreacted. With that crisis averted, we were back in business! Locking elbows and with wine and chocolate bars in hand, we headed for the last checkpoint between us and a thirty-foot Hugh Jackman that would soon be singing and dancing into our hearts from the movie screen.
My shenanigans could have put us in jeopardy of missing the opening scene, but we weren’t nervous. We could see groups of people flashing their ticket stubs and blasting through the stanchions.
And then I was pulled aside and asked to open my purse for inspection! The rent-a-cop on duty explained that suspicious bags had to be searched for concealed weapons. It was a matter of safety, he said. At this point, I didn’t have it in me to protest. We made it to the theater and had a great time—Hugh Jackman never looked better. My friend laughed all the way to our seats and announced that from that day forward she would refer to me by my new name …
Gun-toting Granny.