Making Friends Wherever I Go

Amongst the people of the world, I am a divisive figure. It usually only takes one encounter for an individual to make up his mind about me, and the reactions can be grouped into the following categories: Cody is cooler than Teen Wolf and I must bear his seed, or Cody is a walkie talkie from the devil and I must make a suit from his skin. Last night, at the Badly Drawn Boy show, it took me roughly 2 sentences before the bartender at the club decided on the latter..

Danza and I are standing around before the show starts, and we're feeling a little parched. It's understandable; I'm used to walking 20 feet at a time at the most, not the 40 feet we had to walk from the car. My strength sapped, I began to wilt in the mugginess of the evening. Like a St. Bernard bringing a lost skier back to life with his little barrel of brandy (does that actually happen?), Danza made a beeline to the bartender for something to revive me, carrying me all the way on his back.

He ordered something for us, and the bartender gave us an odd look. "When were you two born?" she said. I'm used to this; I look like I'm around 4 years old. (yeah, I definitely take advantage of that as often as possible by wetting my pants and making people feed me.) Anyway, we answered her with our honest-to-goodness birth years, and then she said, "Okay, can I see your IDs?" It was an understandable request, but nevertheless, my inner beast roared.

"What's the point of asking when we were born if we still have to show IDs?" I said.

"I was just trying to be nice," she said.

"But it made no sense!" I bellowed. "I gave you a legal year and you still asked me for ID! What answer were you looking for?"

The horrified looks of those around me plus Danza's whispered pleas for me to shut up had no effect; I wanted answers. She then made the wise decision to ignore me. Perhaps I expect too much from the world, but it only seems reasonable for a PROFESSIONAL MIXOLOGIST to utilize some sort of ID CHECKING METHODOLOGY. Come on! Lady bartender, you were flying by the seat of your pants and I called you on it; you should thank me, not alert the bouncers as to my presence. That's how I saw it, at least.

Later in the night, Danza went back to the bartender to get us some refills. When he got back, I asked if she'd again asked him for the year of his birth. "No," he responded, "but she said she was glad you didn't come with me." Finally, she says something reasonable.

Posted by Cody at October 26, 2004 7:16 PM