As a baby-faced 22-year-old, I know I can expect to get carded every time I enter a bar or try to buy alcohol at the grocery store. Even when my similarly-aged friends aren't stopped by the bouncer or the waitress at brunch, I'll have to dig through my purse and fork over my driver's license, watching it get examined for the umpteenth time.
I can now expect the same rigmarole if I try to buy a can of whipped cream in New York.
