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Pony: Can I see your ID?
8.22.2005
Friday night, kiff, kate and I ended up at Sneaky Dee's, where i always end a night of indulgence. What started with cinnabons at work (why don't people ever bring carrot sticks or fruit?) spiralled into to cheesies, chips, wings, nachos, and beer. ugh.
In the midst of this stupor, I looked outside to see the crippler, my favourite hard-living 20-something journo (sorry, mike), approach a table of cute, very young-looking men on the patio.
"Sorry to do this to you, but i am going to have to ask to see your id's."
The youngest looking blanches, and points: "She doesn't work here, she is carrying her purse!"
"Just let me see your id's and I will be outta here."
The boys look mortified, but comply. Then they notice us losing it at our table and start to get suspicious. She inspects their id like a pro, slaps them on the back and says. "I don't really work here. But thanks for playing along!"
Then she comes back to our table. "That might be the best thing I have ever done."
