I went to Fairway to pick up some of my favorite Ginger Beer, and first, they had nearly none left (certainly none left in their legendary Cold Room), but my long arms were able to fetch me four delicious bottles. Prize (and salt, and peppers, and olives, and Silk®) in hand, I went to the register. A little old lady let me cut in line because I had so few things. The cashier starts to ring me up and stops at the soft drinks. She says something I cannot quite hear because I've got my iPod on (antisocial me, indeed). I take off the other earbud and ask her to repeat herself. "ID." I try to explain its a soft drink with less than 0.5% alcohol per volume, but she just looks at me like I'm either an idiot or trying to get around showing my ID. I display my papers (bitte) and swipe my credit card and continue on my way.