(It is New Year’s Eve. A teenage boy comes up to the register with a few packs of vodka mudshakes.)

Teen: “Just these, thanks.”

Me: “Have you got your ID?”

Teen: “Oh, yeah, it’s just in my car.”

Me: “Sure. I’ll keep these up here while you go and get it.”

Teen: “I don’t want to trouble you.”

Me: “It’s no trouble at all.”

(He wanders around near the entrance for a bit, where I see him talk to a bunch of other teenage boys. He then comes back in.)

Teen: “It looks like someone’s broken into my car and stolen everything, including my ID.”

Me: “Oh, my goodness! You should call the police.”

Teen: “Yeah, I’ll drive straight down to the station from here. So, how much for these?”

Me: “I still need to see your ID.”

Teen: “But someone stole it.”

Me: “I know, and you should call the police right now.”

Teen: “I’m thirty, you know.”

Me: “And as soon as you prove that, you can buy your… mudshakes.”

Teen: “Mudshakes. Right.”

(He leaves the store and goes back to talking with his group of friends. A second teenage boy then walks into the store and stands in one of the wine aisles, pulling faces and scratching his head. He grabs a few random bottles, and then approaches.)

Teen #2: “I would like to purchase these fine wines for my sophisticated dinner party with my work friends tonight.”

 Me: “ID, please.”

(He hands over his learner’s permit, revealing that he is 17.)

Teen #2: “They got my year of birth wrong; I’m really 23.”

Me: “I strongly doubt that.”

Teen #2: “Can I at least buy the mudshakes? They’re basically just chocolate milkshakes.”

Me: “No.”

(It is the day after Christmas, and everyone is SLAMMING our little game store. We have a line out the door most of the afternoon, and it is only just slowing down when my boss finally leaves. I’m working with a higher associate and a seasonal worker; I am a basic associate, and one of two girls on staff, the only girl in the store at the moment. A man comes up to my counter with a Tom Clancy game, which is a shooter game that is naturally rated M. It is the law in my state that we MUST card anyone who looks under 35 to 40 for rated-M games, and you MUST be 17 to buy.)

Me: “Good evening, sir! Is this all you need tonight?”

(The customer is a younger-looking fellow with a full beard, who looks to me to be college age. Kind of out of it, he nods to me.)

Customer: “Yes. Just that.”

Me: “All right! And do you have an ID?”

Customer: “No? Do I need to get my friend’s?” *gestures vaguely to the store*

Me: “That’ll work! I just need a valid ID.”

(The man calls his friend over, and I can immediately tell that he is not going to be a good customer. His eyes are red and his brow is immediately furrowed as he gestures at me.)

Friend: “Really? Are we really doing this? What kind of seventeen-year-old has a full beard and mustache?”

Me: *laughs* “Well, sir, I knew a kid in middle school with a full beard and mustache. That’s not really a gauge for me.”

Friend: “Come on. He’s obviously not seventeen.”

Me: “I still need to see an ID. Yours would work!”

Friend: *scowls* “Well. I’m really good friends with the store manager. Do you have to do this?”

(I know I’m dealing with a jerk. Our manager is well known for being a jerk, without meaning to, and also a stickler for rules. He even carded me once, despite having my birthdate on file. I know that my manager would never allow this to slide, so I steel myself and smile sweetly.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but it’s the law. I have to card you or it will cost me my job.”

Friend: *uncomfortably shifting* “Well, I guess we could go get a PSN card and buy it online?”

(He won’t. He is buying pre-owned, which is about $20 cheaper than digital.)

Me: *smiling sweetly* “Oh, I can’t stop you from doing that! There’s no problem with that. Would you li—“

Friend: “Well, fine. Thanks a lot.” *dripping with anger* “Let’s go get a card somewhere else.”

(The two turn to leave my register.)

Me: “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you today, sir.”

Customer: “It’s okay; you’re just doing your job.”

Friend: *muttering under his breath about, “Is this really necessary?” and, “He’s obviously not seventeen,” and whatnot*

(After they leave, the store is mostly clear for the first time in hours. I turn to the seasonal kid, who’s been watching with big eyes, as my manager helps the other customer who witnessed it all.)

Me: “If they say they’re good buddies with the store manager in a staff of five but don’t mention his name… they don’t actually know the store manager.”

(I am working at a local chain grocery store well known in the Midwest. I am working as a cashier when two gentlemen walk up with a huge bottle of alcohol. I greet them and ring up the bottle, when I get a screen asking for a date of birth to be entered in, which always happens when ringing up alcohol or cigarettes.)

Me: “May I see an ID, please?”

Customer #1: “Uh… I left it at home.”

Me: “Well, in order for me to sell you this alcohol I need to see an ID.”

Customer #1: “I forgot it… Could you just let this one slide?”

(I know that if I sell alcohol to underage people I will immediately lose my job.)

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry. I can’t do that, otherwise I would lose my job.”

Customer #1: *sighs* “Okay.” *he then proceeds to reach into his coat and hand me his ID even though he told me he had forgotten it*

(I finish ringing up his alcohol which was approximately $80, and he ended up being 22 years old. I’m still dumb-founded by this encounter today, and it was three years ago.)

(I am buying cigarettes and the worker asks for ID. I’m short for my age so I’m used to people having to check.)

Clerk: “Sorry, but your ID is fake.”

Me: “What? What do you mean?”

Clerk: “This is a fake ID. It’s pink.”

(The thing is, not only is it a legitimate ID, but I have just come straight from the courthouse from renewing it. For some reason the new driver’s licenses are now pink with “FL” across them. I try to reason with him.)

Me: “No, that’s brand new. Look, I even have the receipt for it.” *shows paper*

(The clerk looks at it and laughs.)

Clerk: “Nice try, but it’s too shiny. See? No scratches.”

Me: “I just told you it’s brand new. That’s the license now. I don’t write the laws. The new license has a pink banner.”

(Ignoring me, the little s*** cuts my license up! I pay for gas, ignore his asinine smile, and head back to the courthouse. But guess who gets pulled over on the way there?)

Cop: “License and registration?”

Me: “Well, officer. How about a receipt for a license? And while we’re at it, can you come with me to that gas station?”

(I thought the gas station rep was going to pee his pants when he saw the trooper come with me to the window!)

(I am working third shift in a convenience store. A guy walks in. He looks about 14. He brings a six-pack of beer to the counter.)

Me: “Uh, I need to see your ID.”

(The guy hands me his driver’s license, but he’s shaking so hard from nervousness it’s hard to take it from him. It turns out he’s 16.)

Me: “Sorry, you’re not old enough to purchase this product. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

(I hand him back his ID. The guy slinks out of the store but returns a minute later.)

Guy: “Man, did you keep my ID? Please don’t call the cops! My parents will kill me!”

(I assure him I gave the ID back to him but he is panicking and starts to cry:)

Guy: “Please, man, just give me back my ID.”

(I spent the next five minutes with this sobbing dude looking around the parking lot and inside his car trying to find his ID, trying all along to convince him that I had not confiscated it and called the cops on him. Finally, he reached into his underwear and retrieved the ID. He was so nervous he had missed his pocket and slipped the ID into his waistband. He fled, and I never saw him again.)