Something just happened to me which has only ever happened to me once before. I also thought that it would never happen again. I got ID’d. Not in a pub either – but in a supermarket. The offending items were 2 bottles of Rosé for consummation with my evening meal.
It first I was baffled when she asked for my ID. I thought she was joking.
“Have you got any I.D? You know driving license or passport.”
“I’m 26…” I replied bluntly.
“Yes but I’m just doing my job, I can ask anyone.”
Thing is there is ‘just doing your job’ and then there’s taking the piss. The ultimate irony, as I explained, is that I’m a manager… at a bar.
“So you’ve no ID?” she asked once again with a sceptical look. I hadn’t of course – considering I haven’t’ needed to carry any for 5 years.
Still I got immense satisfaction from telling the dozy old cow at Morrison’s Hereford where to shove the rest of the shopping. It’s a shame I won’t be shopping there again because I’d just discovered a pickled onion flavour cheese in their market range.
Part of me should be flattered that she thought I might be under 18 but I know what I look like – there’s no way I look that young. She’s was just a dumb old jobs worth with no grip on reality.