Well, I took the bus to Wegman’s tonight. It broke down on the way back, but that’s a whole 'nother thread. As I’m driving my back yard fence on wheels around the MegaWeg sliding totally unnecessary ammounts of canned soup and Beefaroni into it by the armful, cruising down the snacks isle to pluck a bag of doritos or two, I come accross a Shitload of Heinekin.
Mmmmmmmmmm. Heinekin is my favorite beer. But alas, I’m not yet 21. It’s the rommie’s responsibility to get beer. Except he always gets shitty beer. And we’re almost out of beer. I could really use a beer tonight. So I grabs a case of Heinekin. (Bottles, mind you.)
I proceed to the check-out, and look for the younges, most mid-pubescent, pathetic, pimple-faced, tired cashier there. I found one that reminded me in an instant of the movie theater usher on The Simpsons.
Plan A: He won’t ask for ID; I’m golden.
Plan B: You’ll see.
So he checks off my ten thousand cands of Beefaroni and chicken noodle soup, a couple boxes of Cheerios, bags o’doritos, and a pack of Juicy Fruit.
I put on my sunglasses, because it’s night, and I’m inside, and that’s the badass thing to do.
“I need to see some ID, please, sir.”
Well, so much for Plan A.
So I take out my wallet, and hand him my license, with a $10 bill folded underneath.
He looks at my license.
He looks at me.
He rubs the bill.
He looks confused.
He looks at the license again, making sure he got the date right.
Then he realizes why there’s a $10 bill under there.
Then he smiles at me, and checks the beer, making a totally failed attempt at non chalance while he pockets the 10.
I’m sucking on a Heinekin. And damn is it good.