There’s Following The Rules, And Then There’s This

I am a thirty-five-year-old guy. I have a beard and I’m going grey. I’ve already had a few drinks at the bar and go up to order another.

Barmaid: “ID!”

Me: “Err, hang on.”

I check my wallet. I’ve just come back from holiday, and I guess I didn’t put my ID back in.

Me: “I don’t have it, but I clearly don’t look eighteen.”

Barmaid: “No ID, no sale.”

She has a job to do — I get that completely — but I’m so clearly old enough. I’ve not seen anyone get asked for ID. I’m considering my choices when a bartender walks past.

Me: “[Bartender]?”

Bartender: “Yeah? Oh, [My Name], is that you? Great to see you.”

Me: “Good to see you, too, man. Hey, even more so. Could you tell your coworker that I’m old enough to drink?”

Bartender: “He’s old enough; don’t worry about it.”

Barmaid: “We can’t just take someone’s word for it.”

Bartender: “You’re not taking his word; you’re taking mine. We went to school together. He’s older than I am!”

Barmaid: “No ID, no sale; that’s the rules.”

Bartender: “If they look under twenty-five. He’s clearly older.”

Barmaid: “Well, you serve him, then, but I’m going to the manager.”

She stomps off.

Bartender: “Sorry about that. She got caught selling alcohol to her little sister’s friends, and now she is taking it out on everyone. What will it be?”

We ended up having a great night. I caught up with [Bartender]; he managed to get off work a little early so we had a proper drink together. I started to frequent that bar now that I knew he worked there.

It wasn’t long before [Barmaid] suddenly stopped being there.