At the grocery store this afternoon, I picked up a six of Sapporo and a bottle of Samuel Smith’s Oatmeal Stout. The cashier did not ask for my ID; they are required to enter a birthdate, however, and I noticed she’d put me down for January 23rd, 1945.

Jesus. Do I look like I’m pushing sixty? I want my twenty-two years back!

The explanation, of course, is that this date is easy to enter into the system: 1/23/45.

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