Can I See Your ID, Sir?

Being an odd anecdote from a local box office. Also: some mild kink-shaming, plus thoughts on Stoppard, dry cleaning, Mason Alexander Park, and more.

Never have I ever …

… heard of a theater box office rep asking a patron for his age, and then asking for his ID, before handing over a pair of tickets. Is this a thing that happens? It happened to a buddy of mine not too long ago at a established D.C. theater company. (Naming no names, but the troupe’s tagline will be strangely familiar to readers of this newsletter.)

Get this, though: Not only was my guy asked to prove his identity, he was denied seating for the show because his D.C. non-driver ID card was expired. That was $65 out of his pocket, and a nasty taste in the mouth of someone who lives three blocks from the theater in question — and who might have become a regular if he’d been treated differently.

Am I insane to think this is a weird story?