Death

Today I went to pick up a letter at the post office, the woman asked for my ID, and then proceeded to scrutinize it the way very bored bouncers at bars do. She looked at the ID, looked at me, then back at the ID, back at me.

"How old are you?" she asked suspiciously.

"23," I said.

She then continued to scrutinize the ID and my face for another minute.

"You don't LOOK 23."

"OK," I said.

Then she laughed at me, because it was apparently very funny that I don't look 23, and she walked to the back room to get my letter.

15 minutes later, I asked the woman at the next counter if she could please check where the the woman who had been helping me 15 minutes ago had gone. She didn't see her in the back room, so she paged her on the intercom system.

A minute after that, the original woman came out and said the person who had the key to the registered mail had gone on break, and did I want to wait until she came back? Apparently, you-don't-look-23-lady was chillin' in the back room with her thumb up her ass for 15 minutes, while I was standing at the counter and the line had built to the door.

Seriously. Death.