You want to see my ID?

This happened a couple months ago. Not new news to most since I have (over) shared this encounter numerous times over numerous free beer fridays. Not nearly as much as my mango story, but if I stay on this earth another 19 years, i will give the mango a run for its money.

Back story: I started growing my hair out a couple years ago. The real “why” I am not sure I know. It was a combination of “what the hell, try it”, my dad getting diagnosed at stage 4, and personal experiment into how people treated me without my high and tight-ish hair cut I wore for 15+ years after my Marine Corps service.

Last year, I started growing my beard. Again for non-specific reasons. Just ’cause. It entertains my lovely wife. It entertains me. I am not known for my beard growing. Personal experiment into how people treated me with my my gnomish beard.

Current events: I’m at the Utah sanction adult beverage store. Jameson, Wild Turkey, some boxed wine and Fat Tire are rung up. The cashier who normally doesn’t really pay much attention to me looks up, pauses, and asks me for ID.

I am caught off guard.

The only time I am ID’d is if I order an alcoholic beverage in a restaurant in Davis county, city of Layton to be specific. They have the goofiest of adult beverage laws by far in the great state of Utah.

Back to the cashier.

“ID?” I repeat inquisitively.

Cashier just stares at me.

As I oblige the request, I ask, “Do I look like fucking hipster or something?” All the while thinking hipsters don’t have gray fucking beards … do they?

Cashier just stares at me.

I look to the line for support. What do I see? A fucking hipster staring back at me.

40 years peeing while standing up and accused of being a fucking hipster.

Only solace I have is he was buying shitty ass cheap hooch. If you are to imbibe, quality first is my rule of thumb.

Updated: Forgot to add obnoxious link on Utah’s standing in hipster acceptance:


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