As we exited the store after our confrontation with the Majorly Offensive D-bag (MOD), the good sir Richard stops in front of the Coke display right by the exit and looks back towards the checkout stand suspiciously. I was convinced he was going to steal one of the two liter bottles and make a run for it. Which would have been awesome since 1) it would have been a fantastic “F- You” to the MOD and the D-bag-ettes who checked us out, and 2) it would have made me feel a lot better.

But no. Richard “didn’t think of it,” despite the fact that he rented a car with what we later learned was an ILLEGAL FORM OF ID.

I swear, if I ever meet someone named “Hannah Ford” or any similar spelling, I’m going to punch her (him?) in the face.

In State College, we have this bad Mexican/good margarita joint that — get this — takes your _picture_ when you come in, and associates that picture with the digital swipe from your license. Why? If you misbehave or somehow look to be magically underage at some late date, or if you even get a significantly radical haircut, they can deny you entrance any time in the future. It’s creepy.

My old roommate can tell lots of stories about the liquor store we routinely went to here in PA (and whose workers eventually figured out who we were, given that we came on the same day of the week at the same time of day each visit) would hassle her. Whenever a pretty girl, such as my roommate, would come down the register, a particularly unfortunate-looking female cashier would *always* ID this person and then make any excuse possible to cast doubt on the legitimacy of the ID — embarrassing the heck out of my roommate and making everyone in the store look at her like a criminal. Yet if a less attractive woman came down the line who looked around the same age, this customer would never be hassled. We saw it week after week.