First, have a look at this photo, taken a moment ago:
I inflict this picture on you because earlier this evening I was carded when I ordered a beer with dinner. If you actually think that I look like I could be under 21, then let me say thank you, you silly idiot.
I don’t blame the waiter. He’s been trained to be terrified of the slightest risk of accidentally selling the Devil Rum to a minor (who’s old enough to both vote and wander through Iraq without proper body armor, but that’s beside the point), and this being North Carolina, it almost seems at times like Prohibition is still in effect. No, I blame the Liquor Nazis. I used to be a waiter and bartender, so I know the drill. They’re probably instructed to card everybody who looks like they may be a day under 121.
No, I don’t look remotely like I could be underaged. If you’re carding me, it means you’re under the influence of Temperance Unionistas. So here’s my thinking. If I get carded – ever – the entirety of the alcohol control board and/or the local law enforcement authorities responsible for setting and enforcing anti-drinking policies should be marched out behind the ABC store on Country Club Rd. and nard-stomped.