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Bear in mind, this was a long time ago, 1980 to 1982. Back then, you could legally buy and drink beer at age 18, though you were limited to the 3.2 percent goat piss. And the restaurant I worked for had a ‘delivery’ endorsement on its beer license, meaning we could deliver beer with your food – within certain restrictions, of course. This pizzeria served a college and surrounding area, and that ‘delivery’ endorsement was fairly rare. We were the only restaurant in the area to have one.
This post will deal solely with some of the minimum-age arguments I’ve had to deal with. I’ll detail other problems in subsequent posts.
To quote The Great One…”Aaaaand away we go!”
You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you? Ordering pizza and beer, and then when it arrives, your skinny, smug 12-year-old self stands in the doorway proclaiming your dad is taking a nap, reasoning that it’s easier to snooker the pizza delivery driver than it is run a game on the guy at the 7-11 down the street. And perhaps your claim that ‘the other drivers didn’t have a problem with it’ might be true, but it looks like you drew the short straw today, junior. Either someone comes to the door whom I can reasonably assume to be of legal age, or the beer leaves with me.
It was not just one kid, either. There were several of them on that same block. I think it was safe to assume they knew each other. I’ve little doubt that some driver fell for this act, or just didn’t give a shit, and the word got around.
One tried a slightly different approach, claiming his dad was some high-ranking cop. Hate to say it, Opie, but you just shot yourself in the foot… with a Howitzer. Even if I was inclined to hand beer to a minor (and I’m not), a cop’s underage brat is the very last person in the universe I’d try that shit with, assuming your claim is even true (and I’m pretty sure it isn’t).
On one occasion, a ‘tweener had used some similar ‘Dad’s in the shower’ kind of excuse, but since he couldn’t produce ID, I’d left with the beer. Damned if dear ol’ Dad didn’t call the restaurant to raise hell about it. The call had a distinct ‘Are you calling my son a liar?!’ kind of tone to it. Look Papa-san, it’s real simple. He appeared underage. He had no ID. We legally could not deliver beer to him. You aren’t even legally allowed to give him permission to accept the delivery. At no point did I call him a liar. I told him that without ID, I couldn’t sell it to him. You can carry on like an angry baboon all you like, it isn’t going to change anything.
Oh, and ‘notes’ from dad/mom won’t work, either.
It wasn’t just private residences where the problems occurred. Dorms, sororities, and fraternities were also frequently a source of heartburn. I actually do get it – yes, I know that being in such a dwelling means you’re probably in college, and yes, being in college probably means you’re 18 and therefore legal to buy and drink.
But, instead of going the long way around the barn, how about you just get out your ID and show it to me? It’s faster, it’s easier, and it allows me to follow the rules that govern my job. In fact, your steadfast refusal to do so only serves to augment my suspicion that something here doesn’t add up, and the more suspicious I become, the more insistent I’m going to be that you provide the requested ID.
Don’t get mad at me for carding you. You’d have to have been living under a very large, very heavy rock, very far from civilization, and for a very long time to not know you need ID to buy beer. So who’s at fault here? Me, for doing my job, or you, for assuming I wouldn’t ask you for it, even though you knew I probably would?
Oh, and mocking me when I ask for ID? Yeah, that’s definitely a step in the wrong direction. You obviously don’t realize it, but I am the one with the power here, not you. There is no rule or law anywhere that compels me to sell beer. I can turn around and leave with the beer and your food, and I don’t even need a f***ing excuse to do so. And, if you give me any more grief, that’s not only what will happen, but I’ll blacklist the whole f***ing fraternity when I get back to the restaurant for the rest of the f***ing semester. Since mine is the only restaurant in the immediate area that delivers beer, I’m sure that will make you really popular with all your frat brothers.
This post will deal solely with some of the minimum-age arguments I’ve had to deal with. I’ll detail other problems in subsequent posts.
To quote The Great One…”Aaaaand away we go!”
You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you? Ordering pizza and beer, and then when it arrives, your skinny, smug 12-year-old self stands in the doorway proclaiming your dad is taking a nap, reasoning that it’s easier to snooker the pizza delivery driver than it is run a game on the guy at the 7-11 down the street. And perhaps your claim that ‘the other drivers didn’t have a problem with it’ might be true, but it looks like you drew the short straw today, junior. Either someone comes to the door whom I can reasonably assume to be of legal age, or the beer leaves with me.
It was not just one kid, either. There were several of them on that same block. I think it was safe to assume they knew each other. I’ve little doubt that some driver fell for this act, or just didn’t give a shit, and the word got around.
One tried a slightly different approach, claiming his dad was some high-ranking cop. Hate to say it, Opie, but you just shot yourself in the foot… with a Howitzer. Even if I was inclined to hand beer to a minor (and I’m not), a cop’s underage brat is the very last person in the universe I’d try that shit with, assuming your claim is even true (and I’m pretty sure it isn’t).
On one occasion, a ‘tweener had used some similar ‘Dad’s in the shower’ kind of excuse, but since he couldn’t produce ID, I’d left with the beer. Damned if dear ol’ Dad didn’t call the restaurant to raise hell about it. The call had a distinct ‘Are you calling my son a liar?!’ kind of tone to it. Look Papa-san, it’s real simple. He appeared underage. He had no ID. We legally could not deliver beer to him. You aren’t even legally allowed to give him permission to accept the delivery. At no point did I call him a liar. I told him that without ID, I couldn’t sell it to him. You can carry on like an angry baboon all you like, it isn’t going to change anything.
Oh, and ‘notes’ from dad/mom won’t work, either.
It wasn’t just private residences where the problems occurred. Dorms, sororities, and fraternities were also frequently a source of heartburn. I actually do get it – yes, I know that being in such a dwelling means you’re probably in college, and yes, being in college probably means you’re 18 and therefore legal to buy and drink.
But, instead of going the long way around the barn, how about you just get out your ID and show it to me? It’s faster, it’s easier, and it allows me to follow the rules that govern my job. In fact, your steadfast refusal to do so only serves to augment my suspicion that something here doesn’t add up, and the more suspicious I become, the more insistent I’m going to be that you provide the requested ID.
Don’t get mad at me for carding you. You’d have to have been living under a very large, very heavy rock, very far from civilization, and for a very long time to not know you need ID to buy beer. So who’s at fault here? Me, for doing my job, or you, for assuming I wouldn’t ask you for it, even though you knew I probably would?
Oh, and mocking me when I ask for ID? Yeah, that’s definitely a step in the wrong direction. You obviously don’t realize it, but I am the one with the power here, not you. There is no rule or law anywhere that compels me to sell beer. I can turn around and leave with the beer and your food, and I don’t even need a f***ing excuse to do so. And, if you give me any more grief, that’s not only what will happen, but I’ll blacklist the whole f***ing fraternity when I get back to the restaurant for the rest of the f***ing semester. Since mine is the only restaurant in the immediate area that delivers beer, I’m sure that will make you really popular with all your frat brothers.
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