21

At 12:01 AM on June 4th, I ventured to the local dive bar to get my first legal six pack in the United States of America.

Previously, I had backpacked alone through the Balkans, the Middle East, and other parts of the world. I had shot guns. I received military recruitment mail. I drove across America. I have been attending an Ivy League institution. I drank legally in Muslim countries and five continents. I had driven many motorized vehicles. I voted in a presidential election. I drank legally in Canada.

I had not, however, drank legally in the USA.

So I go in. The place smells like aged beer and the people look like part of the furniture of the place itself. The beer refrigerators were dark. My thought was that they stopped selling beer after 9 PM! Oh No!

I ask, in perfect non-Pittsburghese English, the barmaid with big boobs: "Excuse me, do you sell liquor in this state after 9 PM."

She stares.

"Yea. Go get 'un."

I retrieve the only thing I could find palatable amongst the Buds, IC Lights, Natty Ice, and other brands: Sam Adams.

I go to the cashier of the silicon bra: "How much?"

"You are not from here, are ya?"
"Kind of..."

"Well enjoy. $13."

I pay and she turns around. I'm insulted. After all of these years, I could have just waltzed in here and gotten a six pack, just like that? I say, "Don't you want to see me ID??"

"No. You are old enough."

I pause.

"Well I just want you to know that I have been 21 for 10 minutes!"

She motions me to show her the ID, tries (and fails) to get the bar goers of ancient times to sing Happy Birthday. I leave, with a sense of pride, accomplishment, and perhaps a little bit of sadness.

I am no longer a "kid" but a bonafide woman. When did that happen? Oh wait. 11 minutes ago.