I go to a local bottle shop that I’ve frequented before to pick out some wine, beers, and whisky.

While I am twenty-eight, people tend to mistake me for much, much younger. When I graduated university last year, many thought my “graduation” referred to high school. I have found, however, since getting new glasses and getting my hair cut, along with wearing sleeveless shirts — essentially showing off my arm tattoos — I’ve not been mistaken for a child any longer. This occurs while I am at the register, paying for my purchases.

A group of young guys comes into the store. Each is holding a skateboard and they are all kind of scruffy. One in particular is in the lead; the others appear to be following him.

Cashier: “Fellas, can I see your IDs, please?”

Lead Scruffy Guy: “What the h***? We haven’t even tried to buy anything yet!”

Cashier: “The minute you step into a bottle shop, you have to prove you’re old enough to be here. ID, please.”

They complain amongst themselves as I pay for my purchases. They focus their attention on me.

Lead Scruffy Guy: “Did he ask you for your ID?”

Me: “No.”

Lead Scruffy Guy: *Looking very angry* “Well, why not? That’s so unfair!”

Cashier: *Cutting across them* “Because she, unlike you, looks like she’s over twenty-five! Anyone who looks under needs to be ID’d. If you have no ID, I must ask you to leave.”

The guys look at me as if trying to judge my age. I look the lead guy right in the eye.

Me: “I’m twenty-eight.”

The guys start complaining, but seeing the cashier isn’t going to budge, they ultimately leave as none have ID on them and they cannot prove their ages. The cashier looks at me, seemingly mortified. 

Cashier: “I’m so sorry about that. I don’t mean to say that you look old, just…”

Me: “Mate, until recently, people have thought I’m still in high school! Trust me when I say that someone thinking I look my actual age is the biggest compliment I can get.”

The cashier just smiled at me, relieved that I wasn’t offended, and I left the shop with a cool story to tell my friends.

I’m a doorman at a pretty cool neighborhood pub that has very popular dance nights that hit capacity every weekend. A young girl hands me an ID that I know is not her. I quiz her on when and why her hair is COMPLETELY different, birthday, middle name, address, etc.

Just when she and her two friends think they have convinced me, I invite her inside, telling her:

Me: “You’ve changed so much since we dated last year; also, your mother is up at the bar.”

Her face goes white.

Me: “I will give your sister’s ID to your mom.”

Her mom has been a regular for MANY years and the previous year had introduced me to her other daughter, hoping we’d get together, but we only dated for about a month.

The three girls took off running. I gave the ID to her mom, which ended up being a VERY long-running inside joke.

Supermarkets in the UK aren’t allowed to sell energy drinks to under-sixteens. For sake of ease, the one I work for puts it under the challenge-twenty-five policy; if you look younger than twenty-five, you have to show ID. We can be fired if we don’t ask. I’m by the checkouts when there’s a loud commotion at self-serve, so I head on over just in case.

A boy who looks about sixteen is loudly swearing at my colleague on self-serve, gesturing wildly, whilst the girl he’s with, who looks eighteen or nineteen, is trying to calm him down. My colleague tells him to leave, and he does, but not before throwing what he was going to purchase on the floor and pushing over our social distancing signs, barriers, a tower of baskets, and some stock. The girl apologises profusely to my colleague and follows him out, looking mortified. I head in and help my colleague pick up stuff.

Me: “You okay? I can cover you if you need to have a break?”

Colleague: “I’m fine. I finish in a couple of minutes anyway.”

Me: “What an end to your shift. What even was his problem?”

Colleague: “Wanted to buy an energy drink. He looked young, so I asked for ID. He didn’t have any; he left his license at home. I told him I couldn’t sell him that, but I could hold onto his stuff whilst he picked a different drink to go with his meal deal. ‘I’m 21!! Raaarraarraar,’ effing this, effing that. Honestly.”

Me: “He was twenty-one?!”

Colleague: “I know, he looked like he was thirteen! And having the hormonal rage of a pubescent teenager isn’t going to make me think that you’re old enough to buy it!”

The local casino is near both my mom’s work and my university, so some days, when our lunch breaks overlap, we and my stepdad meet for lunch there. I turned twenty-one about eight months ago, but I still look young for my age. This means that the staff looks a little extra hard at my ID when I enter the building. I sit down with my family at a table, and while we’re waiting for our food, we notice a security guard walking nearby.

Stepdad: “Is he looking at [My Name]?

Mom: “I think he is.”

I have a feeling this means he’s debating how old I am, but we brush it off for the time being. After passing us about three times, the guard comes over.

Security Guard: “Excuse me. Can I see your ID?”

Me: “Sure.”

I hand him my ID, and he stares at it for a long time.

Security Guard: “I’m sorry. The staff in the security room noticed you and thought you looked really young. I had to check.”

Me: “It’s okay. I understand.”

Security Guard: “You just look really young, and if I don’t check, I could get in trouble.”

Me: “That’s fine! It’s no big deal.”

Security Guard: “You just… look really young.”

My mom and stepdad love to joke about the time I got carded twice, but I’m more interested in knowing how young the guard thought I was!

I am visiting Las Vegas, where recreational marijuana is legal. My family and I have stopped at a souvenir store that also sells marijuana. I am asking one of the guys behind the counter about some of their products.

Worker: “Excuse me, ma’am, but you can’t have your drink in our store. We aren’t allowed to have alcohol here.”

Me: “Don’t worry; it’s virgin.”

Worker: “I don’t care if you’re a virgin or not. You can’t have that drink in our store.”

Me: “No, dude. I was talking about the drink. ‘Virgin’ means non-alcoholic. I’m nineteen; I can’t have alcohol for two more years.”

Worker: “You know the age for marijuana is twenty-one, right?”

Me: “D*** it!”

I left the store!