Stupid Young Punk!

A couple of weeks ago, my pals and I had planned to meet at the still-oh-so-super-cool, Section 8, for a few cheekies before dinner. I walked straight in past the ginormous bouncers who completely ignored me and the fact that I looked about 12 years of age...or possibly I'm so tiny they probably thought I was a mouse.

Like all good alcoholics, I headed straight to the bar, looking forward to a nice, refreshing beer after a "hard" day of work. The friendly banter between me and the Cute Young Thing behind the bar went something along the lines of this:

Me: Hello, Cute Young Thing (alright, that's not true...I didn't say that at all, apart from the "Hello" bit)! May I have a Trumer, please?

CYT: Sure! You got ID?

Me: Uh...yep, sure...

I hand him my ID. As he reads my Date of Birth, his eyes almost pop out of his Cute Young Face. His mouth gapes so widely that if I had a soccer ball, I probably would've shoved it down his throat. He grins, slowly at first, before breaking out into fits of laughter.

CYT: Oh my god! I'm so sorry! You're just so, like, teeny-tiny!

The little 18-year-old shit can't stop laughing. Aghast, I glare at him. He stops. His face becomes grave and solemn.

CYT: Wow. I'm...so sorry. I'm really embarrassed now. I didn't mean to disrespect you...you know...you being so old and all. I really am so, so sorry.

Me: Son, you'll be as old as me one of these days...

CYT (laughing): That's true...in like, 20 years...

Me: Shut the hell up, kid. Just give me my goddamn beer, but careful, I might have to glass you with it...

CYT (handing me my beer): Sure thing, lady...just don't put your shoulder out when you try to glass me.

Me: Stupid young punk! No tip for you!

Dumb kids, where's the goddamn respect, yo? I muttered to myself as I shuffled away.

CYT: Have a nice night, grandma!