A few days ago, in a small shop on Warsaw's Nowy Swiat, the man behind the counter asked for my ID before selling me beer. Friday night. Erasmus party in some obscure hip hop club in the neighbourhood where I spent my first summer in Warsaw. The bodyguard wanted to see my ID before letting me in. This morning, in the store next to Asia's house, in my beloved Ligota, I got my Marlboros only after showing the saleslady my ID. She studied it for about a minute and then told me I didn't look 25 and she's still not sure she should sell me those cigarettes.
They probably don't know it, but each of them made my day, simply by asking this question, which used to piss me off when I was 16 and wanted to buy beer and / or cigarettes. I just love to see the wheel turning and to find myself in similar situations, having completely different reactions. Gives me the illusion of universal equilibrium, even if it's only a matter of minor, yet essential details.
They probably don't know it, but each of them made my day, simply by asking this question, which used to piss me off when I was 16 and wanted to buy beer and / or cigarettes. I just love to see the wheel turning and to find myself in similar situations, having completely different reactions. Gives me the illusion of universal equilibrium, even if it's only a matter of minor, yet essential details.
1 comment:
Hello 'grumpy but gorgeous'. I represent the blog police and I've been asked to check your ID for posting blogs - we think you look waaaay to young for such pernicious freedoms...
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