A bouncer's need to see ID.

Bouncers asking for identification are eating shit.

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. At least, there may have been a time when this was true — by which I mean, a time when you were actually asked, verbally.

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

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. Wouldn't the typical person be a bit confused by this? Should the average Joe be expected to be able to comprehend what's happening, especially in a dimly-lit environment where any attempts to slow down and make sense of the situation will lead to said person being swiftly and thoroughly ridiculed? Are we so impersonal, so rushed and hurried to get through the doldrums of our lives that we're not able to actually communicate our objectives like human beings? 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.

Other times, there's been no communication at all. I've walked toward the door of a bar and seen a few individuals loitering around outside, but no obvious security. Because the guys stay 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. ✍︎

Special thanks to Ashley D'Achille.