Women love it when I ask for their ID when they purchase alcohol.
“You really think I’m twenty-one?”
“What can I say?” I respond. “You look young to me.”
Some squeal and say they’re going to tell their grown kids that they got carded at the grocery store.
I usually ask women to produce their ID even if it’s obvious they’re over twenty-one because once I told a woman I did NOT need to see hers. She was quite attractive but I could see she was closer to my age. When she began to dig through her purse for her driver’s license, I said, “That’s okay, ma’am.”
“Oh,” she said, and looked despondent as she closed her bag. I had hurt her feelings. I decided then I would never do that to a woman again. So I usually ask for a woman’s ID even if her great-grandchildren are accompanying her to the checkout stand.
Other guys should give this some thought, too. Once, when I asked a woman for her ID, her husband spoke up:
“You’re asking for your ID? Why in the world would you do that? You really think she’s under twenty-one? I can’t believe it!
“Don’t you think she looks young, sir?” I said, trying to help him out. But he wasn’t getting it.
“For crying out loud,” he pressed. “You don’t need to see her ID.”
Sir, I wanted to say, for your own sake, as well as for the sake of all Mankind, would you please shut the hell up?
I wonder if he survived the trip home.
I remember another woman who was probably a grandmother but was pretty brash. As I rang her up purchase, she looked me in the eye and gave me a flirtatious smile as she put a hand on her cocked hip.
“Do I need to show you my driver’s license?” she teased.
I grinned and said, “You’re much too sophisticated to be under twenty-one,… ma’am.”
Every time I work the register, I have at least one encounter where I ask the woman for her ID and she’s so delighted that she blurts out, “I love you!”
To which I’ve learned to say:
“Yeah, sure… you probably to say that to all the cashiers…”
2 thoughts on “Always Ask a Woman Her Age”
You are my hero. I’m 61. I remember getting carded once in my forties, and I beamed at at the new young cashier who did it, and thanked him. Then, and only then, did he look at me. He was a pale white guy and turned lobster-red with embarrassment, though I didn’t think that what I did should embarrass him.
But that was some fifteen-odd years ago. Oh, well.
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Thank you Karen. I’m sure you still rock.