malone

Alright, here's my first direct lift from the blog. I hope this isn't cheating too much. DON'T HATE CRIME ME.

On Friday night Gabi and myself attended the Drones' blistering rock show at a popular inner-city venue.

When we arrived we received the verbal equivalent to a pash followed by an incredibly painful eye-gouge. Here is how the conversation went:


BOUNCER: I.D. please, ladies.

GABI: Excuse me?

BOUNCER: I need to see some I.D.

ME: Are you serious?

BOUNCER: (long hard stare) I.D. please.

Gabi and I exchange glances, attempting to recall the last time we were asked to prove we were over eighteen.

BOUNCER: (impatient) I.D.

He's serious. We are thrilled.

ME: I love you.

GABI: Yeah, you're a genius.

Bouncer looks confused.

Thirty year-old and twenty-nine year-old hand over identification.

BOUNCER: (reading birthdates) Ah.

ME: (playfully flirtatious) But you can ask us for our I.D anytime.

BOUNCER: Well. You look good.

GABI: Thank-you!

BOUNCER: (warming up) If I was older, I'd ask you out on a date!

ME: .....



If he was older??


Was that not essentially saying 'you two old bags look alright - for your age'? Why did he send us off on our merry way with the deferential politeness usually reserved for Anzac Day poppy sellers? SINCE WHEN DID I BECOME OLDER THAN BOUNCERS???


It's no wonder I drink.