A bouncer's need to see ID.

I'm sure nobody else on the planet has ever cared about this, but the way bouncers ask you for ID doesn't make sense and isn't optimal for good customer service.

Whenever you go to a bar, club, or other age-restricted entertainment venue, you can count on being asked for your identification by a bouncer. And by “asked,” I mean, expected to know exactly who they are and what they want from you with no words being exchanged.

Nowadays, it seems like instead of asking to see your identification out loud, a bouncer or guard is more inclined to silently hold up their thumb and index finger horizontally to form a rectangular shape. They don't speak, they just hold the gesture until you grasp the meaning of this arbitrarily made-up sign language.

Of course, most people I know have been out often enough to know what this means, but why is it assumed? You see some random guy, dressed in all black or other street clothes, standing outside of the bar. He's often not even looking directly at you as he flashes an arbitrary hand signal in your direction. Isn't there a reasonable chance that someone going out for the first time may not understand this? On a public street or sidewalk, anybody might stand anywhere and say anything they want to people passing by. How should anyone know for sure that this person is working in some sort of official capacity? Should the average Joe be expected to make that split-second deduction, handing over valuable identification to a stranger, in a dimly-lit environment with tens of other people impatiently waiting alongside him? Are we so impersonal, so rushed and hurried through hustle culture that we're not able to actually communicate our objectives like human beings?

Because in case you were wondering, you absolutely can't ask — any attempts to slow down and make sense of the situation will lead to you being swiftly and thoroughly ridiculed. Compare going to a club with going to an airport. At an airport, you have the freedom to ask a hundred questions, not know where you are or where you're supposed to be, and even have gate agents print your documents and take your bags if you're too incompetent to know what to do with them. A bar affords no such helplessness. From night one, you're supposed to know where to go, how to talk, whom to show your ID to, how to order a drink, and how to hear and be heard in raucous settings with zero assistance. Lest you be swiftly and thoroughly ridiculed.

Just once I'd like to walk up to the door of the bar and have the bouncer state in a loud, clear voice their name, their role with the establishment, and what they require of me before I can enter. If it's too noisy for me to discern all of that, they can simply speak up.

Not to mention, there's sometimes no communication at all. I've approached the door of a bar to find several guys standing outside, chatting, none of whom appearing to be staff. Because the guys just continue talking to each other without looking up at me, I've simply proceeded on in... only to be stopped by a sudden outstretched arm jutted out in my path like a tollbooth boom barrier.

Insulted at the idea of having someone try to hold me back like I'm a wandering child, I look up and know exactly what I'm going to see. It's one of those guys I thought was just loitering around, and he doesn't stop chatting with his buddies even as he continues to hold his arm out. Finally, he looks down at me with an expression that says, "Yeah, nice try, buddy, you think you're slick?" — even though I was not trying to get away with anything. As I'm fumbling to whip out my ID as quickly as possible to end the interaction, he silently holds up his two fingers in that rectangular shape. ✍︎

P.S. Once, in Baltimore, a bouncer took my ID and started bending it in half, an apparent test for authenticity. It was real, and he gave it back, but for years later I just had to walk around with an ID that had a giant crease down the middle for no reason.

Special thanks to Ashley D'Achille.