Might as well throw in a Geritol chaser, too

Monday, April 20th, 2009 | Again with the hockey, Life in Czeltistan

Went to get a beer at the Admirals game on Saturday. The bartender carded me. She looked over my ID, and as she handed it back to me, she told me, “You’re four years younger than my daddy.”

::blank stare::

::stunned attempts to calculate if bartender is actually old enough to serve me::

10 Comments to Might as well throw in a Geritol chaser, too

Sam Baden

In some states (don’t know MI) you only have to be 18 to sell alcohol. If that helps with your math.


Oh yeah, gotta love that. I am sometimes mistaken for my 4-year-old daughter’s grandmother.

czeltic girl

Sam — It’s 18 here, too. I was just too stunned to do proper math. :)

And Rita — you are in no way old enough to be someone’s grandmother. (Ok, technically… but no.)


She may be old enough in years but maybe not in diplomatic terms.


Well, at least she carded you. I got carded at a club in Detroit in 2003. The guy kept apologizing.
I just laughed. Then again, I used to get carded in Detroit all the time. Refreshing place, Di Ttroit.


That’s one of the worst things about living in a college town. I’m old enough to be almost everyone’s mother. My grad student/TA husband is older than several of his professors. The 19 year olds in the labs he teaches guess he’s like 23 or something, because he looks a little younger than 40 and everything over 23 is “Parents’ age”.

czeltic girl

Sherri — I’m well acquainted with the feeling. I live between two universities, an engineering college and a tech college. The young ‘uns are everywhere.


…and then there’s that traumatic moment when the waitress says to you, “Did you want to see the Seniors’ menu?”
Just wait – it keeps getting better. Count your blessings. at least it’ll be a while before AARP finds you.

Pat & Ivan

Believe it or not I was carded the other night … Maybe someday I will tell the rest of the story but rest assured I am younger than the late Paul Harvey…


…and then there was the time that my mom taught the tweens tending bar in a pizza place in Waterloo how to make a martini–the poor girl looked so happy when she emerged from the under-bar cabinet with a bottle of gin. SLOE gin. Uffda!

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