Has No ID-ea What’s Wrong

(My husband and I are in a casual restaurant that we come to often. We are seated, place our orders with a regular waitress, and sit back to talk. I am over 21 years of age, but I look much younger. The waitress comes back to the table without our drinks.)

Waitress: “I’m sorry. We have a new manager. He’s insisting I need to check your ID before you can have any beer.”

Me: “No problem. I don’t have it on me. Hang on while I grab it from the car.”

Husband: “I’ll get it. Glove box, right?”

Me: “Yes.”

(The waitress goes back to prepare the drinks while she waits. Then, I hear her manager.)

Manager: “Do not pour those beers until you see the ID.”

Waitress: “I know she’s over 21. He’s getting her ID. I’m saving time.”

Manager: “Is this how you’ve been doing things here? Well, no more. I’m in charge here now.”

(My husband walks back in and the manager storms up to him.)

Manager: “Is that the ‘ID’?”

(He makes overdone air quotes as he says, “ID.”)

Husband: “Yes. What exactly is your problem?”

Manager: “I do not tolerate underage people trying to drink here.”

Husband: “And?” *holds out the ID*

Manager: “There’s no way she’s twenty-eight. None.”

Husband: “Look, she’s twenty-eight. I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to back off.”

Manager: “Now I’m going to need to see your ID, as well.”

(My husband pulls his ID out of his wallet and hands it over.)

Manager: “Am I supposed to believe you’re only thirty?”

Husband: “At this point, I really don’t care what you believe. Now, are you going to let the waitress do her job or not?”

(The manager grumbles under his breath and wanders to the back. The waitress brings the beer and tries to apologize, but I won’t let her. She isn’t the problem. As we are leaving, I see the manager standing just behind the front counter, looking annoyed.)

Me: “Oh, and by the way, I will need contact information for the owner. He really needs to know why he’s losing some of his regular customers.”

(I did contact the owner and explain what happened. As far as I could tell, I wasn’t the first complaint he’d had. A few weeks later, I happened to see the waitress in the supermarket. She told me the manager had “moved on.”)