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The Underage Bar

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When I was 18, 19, 20-years-old I had a fake ID, just like everyone else. It was not a good fake ID. In fact, it was a laughable piece of shit. If someone accepted this fake ID chances are they either A) Didn’t care about their job, B) Were legally blind, or C) Couldn’t tell difference between white people. Obviously this ID did not work everywhere. I had to pick and choose my spots. That’s pretty standard with fake IDs though. There were certain bars that were more liberal with their carding policies than others. And by liberal I mean they valued their liquor license like I value a peso. Those are the places the underage drinkers flocked. It’s certainly where I went. But even though those bars were lenient carders I still felt like a certain amount of confidence and bravado were necessary to get in. I felt as though I had to SELL that fake, if for no other reason than to reassure the lazy doorman.

I was wrong. At the underage bar they don’t give a flying fuck.

I had always suspected that of course, at least a little, but it wasn’t until last weekend that this belief was 100% confirmed to me. I recently had the amusing pleasure of going to an “underage bar,” and well, Goddamn. It was as underage as underage could possibly be. My whole night could probably be best summed up by the interaction I witnessed as I walked in the door.

Drunk Girl: Okay, like, she’s my little sister and I KNOW she’s only seventeen but I promise she won’t like get in trouble or anything.

Doorman: I don’t know…

Drunk Girl: Pleeeeeeeaaaaaaassssseeeee.

Doorman: Okay, okay.

Drunk Girl: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(*gleefully runs inside with 17-year-old sister, who is immediately date raped*)

All of that is true, except for the date rape part, which I only assume is true. I was next in line but I decided to go ahead and walk right by the doorman. I didn’t think he needed to see my driver’s license since apparently a high school diploma wasn’t even a necessary requirement to get in. For some reason the doorman stopped me and demanded to see my ID. I kind of enjoyed it, not because it made me feel young (apparently I look 16?), but because it gave me an extended opportunity to laugh in his face. I should have just flashed him my pubes because I’m pretty sure the ACTUAL age requirement for that bar was “old enough to grow pubes.”

Now, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against these types of establishments. I think they’re great, and like I said, I used to frequent them all the time. But that door guy trying to take himself seriously for thirty seconds was ridiculous. I think you lose the privilege of taking your job seriously when you knowingly let in a girl who was a part of the target audience for the ABCFamily Original Movie “Cyberbully.”

Being at that bar also made me wonder how the hell the owners can even bring themselves to let in all these undeRagers. As I surveyed the crowd all I could think was “Damn these kids look young.” I’m in my 20’s. The owner, who was tending bar and who I had the pleasure of meeting via high five (that probably explains A LOT), was EASILY 35, probably older. What does that crowd look like to him? Through his eyes it had to seem like he was slinging whiskey cokes at a Selena Gomez concert. I wonder if he even takes himself seriously as a bar owner. If he does it’s like if someone who deals pot to suburban high school kids watching “The Wire” and thinking, “Yeah, I do THAT!”

This bar was better than the other type of bar that lets in underage kids though. That other type being the creepy holes in the wall whose regulars have had prison sentences longer than many of your lives. “No sir, I would not like to pay five dollars to watch you masturbate in the bathroom, now please let me order my Bud Light and be on my way.”

It was a weird experience being in an underage bar again. I definitely felt a little awkward being there, by the way, in case anyone was wondering. I drank to forget that. It worked, mostly. But being there did give me an appreciation for one of life’s joys that I’ve long forgotten. The underage bar: because why should you have to be over 21 to have the privilege of overpaying for alcohol?

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