I might as well have been wearing a full SLED uniform when I walked into this bar in downtown Myrtle Beach. Evidently. If you're under six foot tall and lack convincing facial hair, you become quite the spectacle in these parts of the world. And if there was not a spotlight on the bouncer's head already, there was one now. The crowd turns back around and gets to a mumble. Securing a visible spot at the bar is not much a challenge for someone who looks like they are wearing a wire.

I start collecting stares from some of the other compatriots, even the bartender notices the air thicken with suspicion. The barkeep focus shifts from hospitality toward investigation. It is not long until his scan of the crowd targets me. Our eyes meet. I can almost hear old western music playing in the background, our staredown overshadows the small time it took for the bartender to close the distance between us. I slowly lower my hand to the pocket that holsters my wallet. "I.D.?", I swore I heard 'draw'. With quick reflex and confidence I hand over my driver's license for inspection.

The first step in a proper procedure of debunking suspicious identification material is to; hold the card up to the closest neon fixture mounted to the wall, squint your eyes, and then check to see if the back is there. Second is the classic 'triple take' to confirm that this government issued rectangle is not photoshopped. The barkeep will look down at the picture, study the nuances of my face, then up to me for comparison, then again back down to refresh his dwarf-term memory, then back up to me. Unconvinced still, the bartender's gaze drops once more to the photograph with great intent. Ready now, he raises his eyes to me, "you haven't changed a bit". He is painstakingly correct so I oblige the man and begin, the third and final step, the pop quiz. The barkeep slings everything he has at me, "When were you born? What is your address? Is your mother single?" it was like reliving kindergarten. Of course I pass all the test and ordered my favorite on draft.

I've never been denied a drink, even though there were times where I should have probably been told 'no more'. Regardless, whomever is inquiring about my age I am always left with the same remark, "you'll appreciate it when you're older", and it's hopefully because when I'm older they would have had kicked the bucket. So I just smile, drink and pretend to talk into a microphone time to time.