Ordering Medicine Is A Pain

I am a thirty-four-year-old woman and I live in a ground floor flat. Due to the current health crisis and my job as a support worker, I have been ordering my weekly shopping for delivery. Around 3:00 pm on Saturday afternoon, my delivery arrives, and I’m stood at my front door waiting for the driver to drop off my delivery. He stops and looks at me.

Me: “Good afternoon, sir.”

Driver: “Hello, I have your order here, but I need to see some ID.”

I think this is odd but don’t have a problem with it. I reach back to my coat that has my purse with my ID.

Me: “May I ask why?”

Driver: “It’s because you have ordered age-restricted items and I can’t tell if you’re over twenty-five.”

I tried to scan my memory to see if I could pinpoint the items I’d ordered differently this week but came up with nothing. I showed him my card and he accepted it. He then put down my shopping and left. As I put my things away, the only thing I could find that was age-restricted was the painkiller that I have ordered every single time. I think I’ll take that as I compliment that he thought I was too young to be ordering painkillers.