Is there a harsher glare than that of the haggard liquor store cashier’s questioning eyes? I think not. The minute I walk in I’m hit with age judgement so penetrating that it actually makes me doubt my own age. Although I’ve been of legal drinking age for four years, I still feel like I’ll be approached and arrested at any moment while I quickly peruse the isle of cheap light beer that I should have graduated from long ago. I look away with awkwardness when he holds my ID up to my face to compare the DMV and real life versions of myself. Am I fooling him? Will this work? I’m getting clammy. I think I’m starting to wheeze. Is it audible? I’m usually so nervous by the end of the transaction that I end up throwing a wad of cash at him and sprinting out the door. Phewf.
Traveling via airplane
I’m not afraid of turbulence. I’m fully aware that I am more likely to get Leonardo DiCaprio to tie my shoes while we watch the Minnesota Timberwolves win an NBA championship in outer space than I am to die in a plane crash. Flying doesn’t bother me one bit… but going to the airport is terrifying. I have to check in, go through security, buy a snack and find my gate on time?! WITHOUT MY MOTHER?! Yeesh, that’s asking a lot.
Going to the dentist
I hate going to the dentist just as much as the next person, but not for the usual pokey/hurty/makes-you-feel-guilty-about-your-poor-oral-hygiene reasons. I’ve actually never had a cavity and, for that reason, I am the oldest person (by like 12 years) that still has their Polaroid taken at each visit and proudly displayed on the “Wall of Perfect Smiles” in the lobby. Yeah, that’s great and all, but they also make me do all this grown-up shit that I am totally not qualified for. I get there and they’re like, “How are you paying for this?” And I’m like “I dunno. Doesn’t my work or Obama or something take care of this stuff for me?” Then they ask for my insurance card and I accidentally give them my Blockbuster card and why the hell do I still have that in my wallet anyway? So then I have to call my mom while filling out paper work because I have no idea which medications (if any) I may or may not be allergic to. They don’t even give me the choice between bubblegum and wintergreen flavored tooth-cleany stuff anymore. They just assume that since I’m an adult I would prefer to taste like a forest. Le sigh.
Being at the mall past “mall curfew”
I get it. With my desperate attempts to dress cool and walk with a slight swagger, I look like a clueless high school punk. Is that why the mall cops check my ID when I’m trying to buy a new pair of Hello Kitty legwarmers at Forever 21 at 8 p.m. on a Thursday night? Or maybe it’s the fact that the only people that buy Hello Kitty legwarmers are 12-year-old Asian girls? One more question: Until what age is it socially acceptable to still be shopping at forever 21? Someone please let me know as I’m sure I’m hovering on the cusp at 25.