Checkpoint Charlie

We decided to go out one day, out to a social environment. I was among 2 other males, all in our late 20's, so the three of us inherently appeared to crave women. In fact, at that time, we all simply wanted to do something typical, like going to a bar. I hadn't been out in almost a year, but when we did go out, we usually frequent working class establishments. This time we were in a different city (Halifax), just looking for a place to unwind and relax, kick back, and try a local beer and pretend that we knew the difference. All the places within our vision had that corporate TGI Fridays look, with the formula mahogany tables and Old English fonts.. not the sawdust we were accustomed to frequenting.

As expected, we were stopped immediately at the door by a bouncer, who began to inspect us like a male chimp does when a female chimp is introduced to the cage. I peered into the establishment, and as I figured, the place was missing something.. customers. Anyway, back to checkpoint charlie.. he asked for our identification and we all took out our driver's licenses.

He began asking simple questions like our names, what state we lived in, and any other clever questions he could infer from a New York State driver's license. Then he began to stare at my friend's license in particular. It must have been close to a minute. I wonder which word was giving him difficulty..? Meanwhile, three girls walked in, right past us without the spot check.

I realized what was occurring.. the bouncer was staring at my friend's picture on his driver's ID. It was taken when his hair was quite long, down to his shoulder blades. It was objectively a terrible look. He looked like his older sister wearing a wig. Currently, his hair is quite short. The bouncer turned to him and said, "Is this really you?"

"Yup," said my pal while casually nodding his head.

"Okay, just doesn't look like you. Do you have a sis-"

He quickly interjected, "It was taken a while ago.. I know, I know.. the hair."

The bouncer looked again at the picture with a sour look on his face, "How old are you?"

"According to my ID, I'm a dirty old man."

We all began to snicker, even the bouncer. We thought that would help us through. We actually wound up getting refused on account of my attire. I was wearing camouflage pants. Somehow this was against the dress code. Needless to say, Navy crew members were all around the city that weekend. This was the third time in my life that I was refused entrance due to my attire. When will I ever learn that in order to best supply my funds to an establishment, I must conform to the image that is needed to milk the rest of the suckers. A half an hour wasted being interrogated and we couldn't get into an empty bar. Typical. Just typical.