Les Bonnes Choses

July first and fourth mark the dates that Canada and the United States respectively told their contemporary reigning English monarchs that they had things pretty much under control. So happy Sod-Off England weekend to all!

As I drove around today, I heard an ad on the radio that struck a chord. It was for the Airmiles rewards program. The theme was things that are awesome. The example was getting carded at the age of 37. It was a little close to home for me. I am approaching the age where I was of legal drinking age when people who are now of legal drinking age were born. In some jurisdictions, I am already there. Nonetheless, I continue to get carded when I go to the local grocery store. Signs posted there indicate I should expect to be carded if I look under 25. Twenty-five happened quite some time ago for me, and is now just a fond but vague memory of living in an apartment storage-closet in Toronto's Parkdale neighbourhood. That I continue to get carded suggests to me either an inability to think critically, or else an inability to discriminate a fifteen year age differential. Both of these, I think, qualify as a real handicap. I refuse to believe I look youthful enough to just possibly be less than 21 years of age. If so, that might speak to how perception of age may have undergone a recalibration to account for sun damage and air-borne pollutants.

I could brush this off as a flattering mistake, were it not so much bloody trouble. The local store requires government-issued identification. American states count as governments. Canadian provinces often do not, it seems. The first time I had this problem, there was a big to-do, involving the summoning of the store manager. Next time, I was told, I should bring my Canadian passport, which is inconvenient (it doesn't fit in my wallet), makes me nervous (losing it would be a disaster), and bothers the hell out of me (just on principle). My Ontario driver's license would be satisfactory identification to the Chicago police, were I to be pulled over. The local grocery store, on the other hand, fancies themselves a branch of the Department of Homeland Security. As if a grocery clerk is any more expert on Canadian passports than they are on Ontario driver's licenses. If I wasn't afraid of running afoul of a number of laws, I'd have a bogus passport done up just to prove a point. I suppose I could just as easily make my point by asking the cashier what colour my passport should be, and what should be on the cover, but they don't get paid enough to deal with my crap.