When The Universe IDs For You
I’m dealing with a woman who’s furious that I’ve refused to serve her group because one of them looks underage.
Customer: “My daughter is eighteen! Eighteen! I should know, I’m her mother!”
Me: “She doesn’t have ID, and she looks underage. Without ID, I can’t serve her. It’s the law.”
Customer: “Are you calling me a liar? She is eighteen. You have no right to refuse us!”
As she’s winding up for another round, the side door opens, 9:30 PM sharp. My own daughter comes in, still in her school uniform, backpack on.
Daughter: “Hi Mum! Just letting you know I’m home. Going upstairs.”
On her way through, she spots the girl that the customer is defending and waves.
Daughter: “Oh! Hi!”
I look at my daughter, then at the girl.
Me: “…You know her?”
Daughter: “Yeah. She’s in my class.”
The room goes very quiet. I turn slowly back to the woman.
Me: “Right. You and your fourteen-year-old ‘eighteen-year-old’ need to leave. Now.”
She tries to sputter something, but it’s over. They scurry out without another word.
