It’s been a remarkably social weekend for yours truly, starting on Thursday when I accompanied Psynde to the vet; then on Friday, Ellen, Suezie, and I made a road-trip to a distant Target — where we heard there was better Halloween schwag than our nearest Target location*; and then yesterday I drove out to Olympia for a Team Seattle birthday extravaganza. ‘Twas Caitlin’s birthday earlier this week, and the time had come to visit her and buy her booze.

The booze-buying almost didn’t go as well as we’d planned. Caitlin has recently renewed her drivers license to reflect the fact that she’s over 21 (and has been, for some time), but this meant she only had the DOL’s watermarked, stamped paper printed version as a substitute, for her new plastic license has not yet arrived. She had no problem getting served at one bar, where a beer-and-ice-cream-milkshake was delivered without any fuss, but when we adjourned to a quieter (read: dead) hole-in-the-wall dive down the street, things got ugly.

I have been commanded to blog about the exchange, so here goes. Condensed for space constraints, enlarged only slightly to show detail, this is roughly how we were greeted at a spot that bills itself as “The Friendliest Bar In Town!”

Team Seattle: [Sits down at a table in a window.]
Man from behind the bar: [Arrives, begins slinging coasters while he checks IDs.]
Caitlin: [Hands him her temporary ID.]

Man from behind the bar: [Puts on his sanctimonious pants] I CANNOT accept this. I mean, this little piece of paper is good enough for DRIVING, but it’s not good enough for drinking in THIS BAR. Do you have any other ID, something with a picture on it?
Caitlin: Um, no. Because–
Man from behind the bar: [Interrupts. Enunciates as if he's convinced that he's being watched by a narc's hidden camera.] Well then I’M VERY SORRY, but that’s AGAINST THE LAW and I will NOT SERVE YOU.
Caitlin: But the department of licensing told me that this is exactly as good as a regular drivers license–
Man from behind the bar: [Getting louder.] But it’s NOT! Cops may accept it but I WON’T. You can’t ask me to accept it, because FOR ALL I KNOW it’s not any GOOD. And I don’t KNOW, because you don’t have ANYTHING ELSE you can show me. No one in TOWN will serve you with a FAKE LICENSE LIKE THAT.
Caitlin: On the contrary, I’ve been getting served all week just fine.
Man from behind the bar: [Has degenerated into speaking in sarcastic all caps with pissy italics.] WELL THAT’S JUST FANTASTIC — THAT YOU’VE FOUND PEOPLE WHO ARE WILLING TO BREAK THE LAW FOR YOU, I MEAN, THAT’S JUST GREAT. BUT I’M NOT GOING TO BREAK THE LAW FOR YOU, LITTLE LADY, SO YOU CAN JUST FORGET IT.

Team Seattle: [Announces intention to go elsewhere.]
Man from behind the bar: Fine. But give me my coasters back.
Team Seattle: [Contemplates licking all the coasters before departing.]

Look, for all we knew, the guy was right. I know how liquor licensing boards work; the regulations are arcane and screwy, and they vary from state to state. But the barman didn’t have to be an ass about it. He could’ve simply said, “I’m sorry, but we’re not allowed to accept temporary drivers licenses. But I can serve you if you’ve got a secondary ID with a photo.”

Instead, he did everything but call Caitlin a liar and threaten to tear up her “fake license.” The asshole sermon (which ran significantly longer, and was more insulting) was completely uncalled for. It’s not like she’d shimmied into the pub with a band of surly teenagers and a sneer; half the people in Team Seattle have graying hair and require reading glasses. We’re an embarrassingly respectable-looking bunch.

So if you see a bar in Olympia with a little sandwich board out from that declares the establishment “The Friendliest Bar in Town!” then you should seriously doubt it, and keep on walking. We went elsewhere, and our heavily drinking Party of Six spent all its money at another bar, where Caitlin was served her birthday tequila shots without a problem.

And now on a lighter note … I give you a handful of pictures, taken in a miscellaneous fashion over the last few days. Click the jump to see Yama the Cat, the comically and obscenely vandalized mural on the side of the pizza joint where we ate, and to learn how your child can become a minion of Satan for just $29.99.

Yama the Cat does NOT want his temperature taken.
(And for the record, I hear he’s doing just fine.)

Kids these days have NO respect for their elders.