Impatience

I walked into a local bar that I’ve been to several times before. I made that eager face... you know, that face that says, ‘I’m next so serve me now before I pass out with thirst,’ at one of the girl’s behind the bar.

She approached me and said, “Sorry, I can’t serve you.”

My brain did a ‘what the feck’ blush type thing as it tried to recall what the hell I had done last time I was in that bar. I’m normally well behaved... well, for a Capricorn who has an alternative side. The bouncers weren’t moving towards me, so it had to be something else. But what? Often it’s an age thing. So, yeah, sometimes I get mistaken for being younger than I am, but the only reason they don’t serve people on the underage ticket is if they are under eighteen and I realise, even with the assistance of a top Hollywood specialist effects make-up artist, they’d struggle to get me within ten years of that.

I was momentarily lost for words, an odd occurrence, like being short of oxygen for a second, but the young lady then declared that she was simply a glass collector and at seventeen years of age, was not allowed to serve alcohol. I swallowed my paranoia, styled it out with a shrug and waited for an adult to take my order.