anonymous alcohol

after a couple of years of legal boozing, a man grows accustomed to doing so unquestioned by authority. hmm, unless that man thought it would be nice to let his younger brother (not of age) borrow his driver's license because a european romp would ostensibly make it an unnecessary thing to have for a month or two.

well, aside from said man's inability to rent mopeds in greece and ride them fruitily about the isles, the younger brother's inability to return something that he cherishes could cause some problems upon the man's return.

so now I (the man) am forced to carry my passport to bars; something embarrassing (my photo was somehow swapped with that of an unfortunate looking 14 year-old french girl), and uncomfortable (as it takes up a lot of space in my back pocket and occasionally causes a rash.) all was well and good until I left for boston last week, and of course, forgot my dumbass pazpuerto in the NYC.

Fortunately, I stopped by mom's house first so I could scare up a nice stack of alternate identificaysh. I dug through the family files and found:
A photocopy of my learners permit
My birth certificate.
My expired passport with picture of me as a 10 year-old wearing a white turtleneck and a purple Mighty Ducks hockey jersey.


Needless to say, the bostonian bartendresses laughed the tears from my eyes, and the only place where the stack of shame was sufficient turned out to be a bar that also served punch bowls of apple schnapps and had one employee walking around selling meat on a stick. classy biz.
oh, also it didn't work at olive garden, but my friends hid a frosty glass of white zin behind our bottomless basket of breadsticks. and sorry if the entirety of that last sentence made you puke.