Asked for ID? You flirty bastard


Asking me for ID before entering a pub?  Me, the oldest person in the place?  At least he is being thorough.  Perhaps.

I’m in Brisbane for a few more days, delivering production support.  Last week I was here to deliver training.  So naturally I like to spend my travel allowance wisely.  Where wiser than the local backpacker bar.

Would you believe $10 for a plate of food and a pint of beer?  Considering that a normal main starts at $11 (which is hardly highway robbery) $10 for food + beer is tops.

Naturally, I’ve been here every night last week and this week.

Only today, the night of Melbourne Cup Day, have I been asked for ID.  I’m 195cm and 110kg.  Last time I was asked for ID I showed my learner’s licence (I learnt to drive at 19, OK!)

I don’t mind too much if someone asks for ID.  The fact that he asked me shows that he door bitch had the right amount of confidence.  I used to work in a bottle shop and when we asked for ID we didn’t take no answer for an answer.

But before I showed my interstate licence I had to ask how old he thought I was.  After some hesitation he said “28?”  Not bad for a 41-year-old.

Then I thought… what a flirt!  🙂  Then I thought… maybe I should stop dressing like a teenager, sad git.

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