(I'd wanted to give this some kind of coy, "witty" title; some variation on 'Thank you for not smoking' or 'Please observe the no-smoking sign', but I just need to get this out.)

Back in the fall, it was decided (don't know by who) that if a person wants to purchase cigarettes or alcohol in the state of New York, they need to have a valid (as in 'not fucking expired') driver's license (or learner's permit or ID card).

I've gotten a lot of flak from customers about this, but why should I feel bad when I'm not the one stupid enough to throw money away on booze or cancer sticks? One would think that this mandatory rule would inspire people to be prepared with their identification or, at the bare minimum, consider quitting. Instead, it only makes bigger assholes of the people turned away. It's a double-edged sword: people are spoiled brats, but they're easier to identify. (Did you know that, today alone, I had a woman come in wanting cigarettes with a license that expired in 2000?! It took all my strength not to laugh her ignorant ass out of the store.)

However, I must impart a story of a very sad individual and his devotion to nicotine: (To anyone who has seen or heard of Mike Judge's Idiocracy and thinks, "Oh, this could never happen", prepare to eat so much crow, you'll be shitting feathers for a year.) A man is waiting in line for something. When it's his turn, I find out that it's cigarettes. He asks for two packs. I ask him for his ID. He takes it out. It's a North Carolina license...that expired in 2005. (Surprisingly, he was able to use this same ID to purchase alcohol not moments before...something that will land the cashier in hot water.) I bring this to his attention, but he becomes recalcitrant; he tries to defend his lapse in license renewal with cries of 'It's still me'. (If I had a dollar for all the times I heard this during cigarette purchases, I could afford to have these 'mes' killed.) He whips out a benefit card (not valid ID, BTW). The phone rings. I pick up the receiver. He throws a tantrum like he's three fucking years old. How dare I, a lowly peasant, delay King Cocksucker from getting his cigarettes?! I'm forced to cut short the phone call to attend to this waste of human life. He demands to know my name. Fighting back the urge to blurt out, 'Freeley. First initials: I.P.', I tell him my name. He tells me he's going to report me to corporate headquarters.

To sum up, a man with an expired ID is going to get me fired for refusing to sell him cigarettes. Isn't this a great country?