Show Me Your Passport, Sweetheart

At first this author felt flattered by the constant requests to prove that she was of legal age. Then she found it over the top. And then soul-destroying as the doorman insisted, “This German passport is a fake.”

The first time I thought it was a compliment. The doorman at “Churchill,” a bar in the Castro District, asked me for ID. Had I not simply thrown away the money I had spent on those expensive face creams after all? The second time, in another bar, I put it down to the dim light at the entrance. Only the third time I was asked, again by a doorman, I got it: Everyone is asked for ID here, regardless of whether they are in their early 20s or about to retire — a sobering realization.

The consumption of alcohol is only allowed after the age of 21 in the U.S.: the legal age. Law enforcement takes this literally, very literally. Restaurants often keep a sharp eye out to make sure that no one younger than this takes a sip of beer. In every bar you therefore have to show the doorman — or if the pub does not employ one, the bartender — your ID. If you leave it at home, like me, you are snookered and can only drink lemonade. The staff behind the bar is adamant: anyone could come along and point to the crow’s feet around their eyes. What people will do for alcohol!

Even in a “dive bar” you can’t get a beer without having your ID checked. The fancy-pants Munich club P1, known for its (once) strict door politics, could learn something from the American gorillas at the entrance. “Molotov’s” for example, a punk-rock bar in Lower Haight: its clientele sport long, unwashed hair and have hardly any un-tattooed areas on their bodies.

The doorman sits on his barstool throne at the entrance. Hopeful customer upon hopeful customer line up to present themselves to him in a neat line. Graciously the seated doorman accepts the ID, studies the photo, studies the face, studies the birth date, studies the face. Only when he nods may the customer enter. The guardian’s parting glance warns: “I’m only letting you in here on probation, bud!” A very warm welcome.

Heed is also paid to age in restaurants, as well as supermarkets. The checkout assistant doesn’t let anyone simply pass by with a six-pack of beer. ID, please! Why else would we have come here?

Of course, you are not allowed to let yourself be seen in public with a bottle of beer, no matter how old you are. A picnic with friends on the beach? Either you drink a sugar-filled soft drink or you hide your beer in a small, brown, paper bag. This game of hide-and-seek is called “brown bagging.” Prohibition — the period between 1920 and 1933 when hard liquor was completely forbidden in the U.S. — is obviously still having an effect today.

Misdeeds committed under the influence of alcohol, in vehicles for example, get you in front of a judge or in prison quicker than you can say, “Cheers!” Supplies of not-so-hard liquor are best stored in the trunk of your car when you are driving around, not in the front part of the car at all. Their suspicions that the driver could reach for the bottle during the flight are enough to make some police officers very angry.

It is very tedious that some American doormen don’t know where to start with a German identity card, such as recently in the “Southern Pacific Brewery” in San Francisco. Such a small, flimsy card has to be a fake … no ID, no entry! His snide look speaks volumes, namely: more tourists who’ve taken me for an idiot and who haven’t put any effort into their fake ID!

If the U.S. should ever run out of border officials, I would know where they could find replacements — provided they show the correct official ID when they are headhunted.