When were you last ID’d?

So there I was at the counter of The Hearth Bakery and Café on Churn Creek Road in Redding, Calif., ordering lunch with Mrs. O and brother-in-law Rik. At the last minute, I decided to add a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale to my order for a Rueben sandwich. I don’t like beer that much. But it’s hot. Redding hot. And Rik’s buying. So I put the beer on the counter, only to be asked by the twentysomething clerk for an ID. At first, I didn’t process the request. Then, I almost busted out laughing. Before she could rescind the request, I produced my wallet and license, revealing that I was 66 1/2. I asked the counter worker if she was angling for a bigger tip. Prior to the Redding trip, I last was asked for my ID the early 1980s when I was in my early 30s. I enjoyed that request, too. Upon returning to our table, where Mrs. O was waiting, I told her what had happened — and declared that she had robbed the cradle. She merely rolled her eyes and said that the business probably IDs everyone who requests beer or wine. Which may be true. But that’s not the story I’m going to tell. How about you?

Question: When were you last ID’d?