Can I See Your ID?

So despite how much fun the thought of being single for the rest of my life is, I have recently decided that perhaps I should say yes to some invites on my social calendar.

That does not mean I am ready to date.  I am still not sure how I can manage the logistics of dating, i.e. the cost of a sitter, staying out late and Ellie waking up way too early, and the fact that when left unsupervised for more than 3 minutes, I simply want to sleep.

But, in honor of getting a jump start on my New Year’s Resolution, I made a promise to myself that if I am invited to something and there is someone to watch Ellie that loves her, who I do not have to pay, I must say yes to the invite.

No matter how tired I am. No matter how few flattering options I have in my closet.   No matter how long the subway ride takes to get out of Washington Heights – I will go.

And I will not wear a maternity top or nursing bra (even though they are really comfortable), because I am no longer pregnant or breast feeding.

Friday night, I was invited to a birthday party celebration for a close college friend of mine and his awesome wife.

Coincidentally, my aunt and uncle had expressed interest in seeing our new apartment (apparently the blog post pics did not suffice) and they offered to stay with Ellie so I could have a night out.

Sold.

So I head downtown to Chelsea, and I walk into a pretty nice bar, and I say hello to my friends and then head over to the bar to order a beer.

“Can I see your ID please?”

“Um…sure! You just made my night.  Here it is,” I say a little too enthusiastically.

Then I proceeded to tell anyone that would listen, that this was my first night out in forever and I WAS JUST CARDED. I AM 31 AND I WAS CARDED.   I AM AWESOME.

I was glowing.  I was feeling like my old self again.  I was wondering what next great thing the night might hold.

That is until another party-goer decided to kill my buzz, or as he would probably tell it – tell me the truth.

“They have been carding everyone.  Everyone that goes to the bar gets carded. Sorry…I know you were going around all ‘oh my god I was totally carded’, but I had to let you know it’s not just you,” said my fellow beer drinker (or at least I think he was drinking beer).

“Wow.  That sucks.  This is my first night out in a while, it would have been great if I could have held onto the idea that I don’t look my age for the rest of the night.”

“Yea…I felt like you should know,” he said with a smile.

So I was still in disbelief that this was in fact the case, and that I didn’t lose 10 years on my subway ride down to the bar, so I headed to the bar for another beer.

“Can I see your ID?”

“Sure…so I heard you guys have to card everyone…” I asked, defaulting to my journalism background to get to the truth of the matter.

“We have to. Company policy, it’s a big company and they insist or we lose our job.”

“Right…but EVERYONE?”

“Yes.  Last night I carded someone that was born in 1944.”

“Right. 1944.”

“So it’s not so much that I don’t look like I am 20, it’s just the company policy.”

“Yes.”

“Alrighty…can I just have the Brooklyn IPA please?”