I got to the show way earlier than planned to watch the NCAA games and sat down at the bar. I ordered a water and the bartender ID’d me. Not because water needs ID, but because she thought I was a cop. It reminded me of college where this way too overweight and old guy wearing a too small Tiffin sweatshirt walked up to our frat house. “Hey dudes, can I come in and party?” Even heavily saturated, I knew something was amiss. “Hell no, get out of here.” He went next door, was let in, and busted a bunch of kids for underages. There’s your ATF at work – busting 20 year old college kids drinking.
I was in the mood to fly through my set, since Ohio State was battling Syracuse tooth and nail, but work is work so I got through it fine. The staff was great, the crowd bought a lot of shit afterwards and I received my first written check for a T-shirt. A lady asked if I took credit cards (I need to work on that, I’m just out of sight, out of mind for setting that up). No, sorry. Then it got fun. “Do you take checks?” People still carry check books? That’s amazing. Sure, I’ll take a check. “Do you need my ID?” Yes, I thought, because if this check bounces, I’ll have to fire myself from selling my own shirts…and in this economy (I hate when people say that) who can fired?