Idiots Write About Sports

Earlier this month, my driver’s license expired, so like any responsible citizen, I went down to the Culver City DMV to fill out the necessary paperwork, cut the mandatory check, and do all that I could do to make sure I remained a properly licensed driver in the state of California. Sadly, like any responsible citizen who also procrastinates, I waited until the last possible minute to visit the DMV, meaning that my new license has not yet arrived.
I mention this because last night I visited Dodger Stadium, where I decided to wash down my Dodger Dog with a Samuel Adams. In an event that happens with depressingly decreasing frequency as my features become less boyish and more haggard, the concession stand worker carded me. I handed her my license.
“This license has expired,” she said. So I handed her the interim paper driver’s license the DMV gives you for the 2 to 4 weeks it takes to laminate your real identification.
“I’m going to have to call my supervisor,” she said. And with that, the supervisor came out and studied my expired license and DMV extension with the kind of care and consideration Treasury agents devote to $20 bills they suspect may be counterfeit.
“I’m going to have to call upstairs on this one,” the supervisor eventually said. And she disappeared in back, as the growing line behind me got increasingly perturbed about the delay.
After a minute or two, the supervisor returned. “He’s OK to buy beer,” she told her underling before giving me the fish-eye. “Barely.” They thanked me for my patience, handed me my ID, left too much head on my beer and sent me on my way.
This incident amuses me because a week or so ago, with expired driver’s license still in hand, I had to board a commercial jetliner. As you may have read, we’ve had some trouble with undesirables trying to get on board airplanes, so I was hardly surprised — and indeed, rather relieved — when the TSA agent manning the security station at Oakland International Airport looked at my picture ID and noticed that it expired. I produced the interim license, and the agent — without having to phone upstairs, mind you — sent me on through the metal detector.
The moral of the story is clear: even in this post-September 11 environment, it is easier to get past airport security than it is to buy a beer at Dodger Stadium. Also, if you do plan on enjoying a beer at your next Dodger game, please make sure that your paperwork is in order.
(On a related note, my wife accompanied me to the Stadium last night, and — just as I suggested a little while back— was unimpressed with the Dodger Stadium parking lot’s entrance and egress.