When my wife, P, was 21 years old, an incident happened at a nightclub over which she sulked for quite some time. We were with a bunch of friends, ready to enter the establishment for a night of fun, when the bouncer asked for proof of age from each and every one of our entourage. This led to a round of bashful giggles, especially among the female members of our group, who were all well over the 18 age limit.
The bouncer was paying real detailed attention to every single driver’s license,
occasionally fixing his gaze on its bearer, just to make sure, say, a Vanessa Vukadinovic on the card wasn’t accompanied by a Vanessa Chen in person, or a Jamal Mutombo on the photo wasn’t being carried by someone who looks more like Johan Johansson. When it was finally P’s turn, instead of asking for her ID, the bouncer just said: “Straight through, please. Enjoy“. Continue reading