I was at the local corner store, affectionately dubbed by neighbors as "The Stop and Rob." After waiting in line for a minute, I got to the counter, separated from the clerk by a sheet of bullet proof glass. She was a teenage girl who I had never seen before, but looked like she could be related to the guys I usually see, one of whom was taking another customer at his own window a few feet away. I put my lone item, a forty ounce bottle of beer, in the revolving portion of the window, expecting her to swing it around to her side so she could bag it and take my money. Instead of acknowledging my presence in any way, she picked up a fluorescent orange card and held it up, staring behind me. I turned and saw that the only person behind me was a guy pushing a broom. He didn't notice her, so she started pounding the glass and waving the card frantically.
"Do you have some ID?" asked the guy with the broom when he noticed the card.
"Yeah," I said, handing it to him.
He glanced at it and said, "He's 23."
By this point, the other clerk behind the glass had noticed what was going on, and was laughing.
"We know that guy," he said.
"I've never seen him before," said the guy with the broom.
"He's in here all the time, we don't card him anymore," laughed the guy behind the counter.
The girl put my beer in a bag and took my money. I never understood why she didn't even ask for my ID if she thought I was underage. Everybody who has ever denied me alcohol had at least done that.