You know you’re old when the kid at the checkout counter doesn’t ask you for your ID after you’ve hoisted a case of hard cider onto the conveyor belt. Today, I even said, “Don’t you want to see my driver’s license?” And he goes, “No; you’re good.”
I said, “Well, i know i’m good, but am i old enough to buy booze?” And, looking at my white hair, he just giggles and says, “Nah, that’s OK; you’re good.”
And then after i paid and put all the bags in my cart, he says, “Would you like help getting that out to your car?” I came this close to throttling him with my left hand. With my right hand, i was steering my cart.
All by myself.
(Jezuz, kid: Aren’t you supposed to ask everybody for their ID? Isn’t that in the Price Chopper Cashiers’ Handbook? Don’t you get fired if you fail to ask, and doesn’t the store get its license to operate yanked? What if i was part of a sting operation? Jezuz.)