In My View - Am I getting too old for this?

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A friend this week posted on social media ‘I can’t believe I’m turning 22’.

Knowing readers of this column you probably laughed just like I did when I read it and followed it up with ‘wait until you get to....’

I can relate because I remember having those thoughts when I was actually turning 22 all those moons ago.

This week however, I had a bittersweet experience at a local supermarket picking up a bottle or two of ‘adult juice’.

My plans were to catch up with friends who I have severely neglected and I feel horrible that I don’t see them as much as I used to.

As I picked my tipple of choice for the evening, I headed to the cashier, as the thought of dealing with this supermarket’s ‘self service’ made me want skynet to take over to improve this shocking piece of technology.

All was well as the young cashier scanned my items and asked if I had proof of age. As I worked in the bar trade from the age of 18, I have no problems showing my ID and as the law is now ‘think 25’ I am quite happy at my age (26) to be asked to prove it.

Handing over my drivers licence that I have had since I was 17, I was sure this transaction was going to be swiftly concluded and I would be on my merry way onto a night of catching up with some fantastic people.

However, what actually happened was the cashier looked at my drivers licence like I had handed her a piece of paper with the words ‘I am over 18’ scribbled in crayon.

“This is a drivers licence?” she asked.

“Yeah, it is an old style one, because I’m old” was my witty response.

As the young cashier called their manager over, I’m wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself. Apparently I look young enough to be asked for proof of age (which I am delighted about) but my driving licence is old enough that it isn’t recognised as an actual drivers licence.

Stealing a phrase from my nana, when the manager approached they had ‘a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp’.

I’m not normally one to be embarrassed but there was something uncomfortable in the air as the manager approached. They looked at me, looked at the ID and looked at me again.

It was in this moment I started to slightly believe that my own drivers licence may have been fake, which is, of course the most ridiculous thought I could have possibly had.

“It is just an older style licence.” the manager said after an eternity of five seconds. I was then allowed to pay for my experience and continue on my merry way.

I’m not sure whether I should be overjoyed that I still look young enough to be asked to prove my age, or mortified that my licence now shows my age. Either way, my licence runs out next year so hopefully I won’t have my awkward encounters at the till to write about in future.

As a quick aside I’ve heard many happy tales coming out from Laurencekirk’s first ever Beer Festival and want to wish the organisers congratulations on putting on a fantastic event. Did you have a favourite from the beer festival or share in my terrible tale from the till?

Get in touch the usual ways by e-mailing lee.mccann@jpress.co.uk