A few weeks back I got off on a rant about the robo-tellers employed at a few of the larger retail grocery chains in the area. You know—the beep beep beep UPC code reader thingies that force you to ring up your own stuff? I hate ‘em.
Turns out a lot of other folks do, too, based on my reader mail. If anyone ever holds a profanity contest, I am now ready, having learned several new and interesting curse words while perusing the letters I received from readers who share my loathing for robo-tellers.
Though I didn’t mention the particular store I was referencing by name, most everybody figured it out anyway. Hopefully, that store’s lawyers will not, though I’m pretty sure if they did I’d be saved by the First Amendment (freedom to hide under the table when lawyers come knocking).
At any rate, though I may be a rabble rouser, I stink when it comes to following through on my threats to boycott anything. Like most Americans, my bark is worse than my baaah. Like a good sheep, I still shop at the store with the hated robo-tellers at least once or twice a week.
And after my experiences of the past few days, I’m kinda glad I do. Because the store in question has a new policy I really like: They card you if you’re trying to buy alcohol while appearing to be under 40. I found this out the other day while picking up a bottle of Cabernet. I’m camping again, trying to fit in as many outdoor days as I can before the snow flies, and I was shopping an unfamiliar branch of the all-too-familiar store.
When I beeped the bottle (Only six bucks for a liter! Is it any wonder I drink too much?) the robo-teller informed me I’d need to have my booze purchase approved. One of the girls who watches the robo-tellers work came over, beeped in a bunch of numbers, passed a magic card in front of the Mystery Reader, and—to my amazement—asked for my ID.
“My ID?” I asked. “Really?” It has been a while.
“We have to ask if you look under 40,” she replied. “Sorry.”
Overcome with emotion, I swept the girl into my arms, kissed her deeply on the lips and, on bended knee, proposed marriage. OK, I didn’t really do that, but I wanted to.
Modesty prevents me from mentioning my real age here (that, and the ever-present hope I’ll someday be able to attract a much younger woman) other than to say it remains in the realm of two digits. But just barely. That this girl thought I looked under 40…well!
The same thing happened again a couple days later when I was back replenishing my wine supply (camping is thirsty work!). And then again this afternoon.
I think I’ll start buying wine on a daily basis. I can’t drink it that fast, but I can give it to friends or use it to water the roses…something. It’ll be worth the expense just to hear those young girls ask for my ID.
If nothing else, this store’s policy is almost sure to bring in a whole new customer base: inebriated geezers with image problems.
Email Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.
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