I started working retail in 2001, back when I was still in high school. I was at this little shop in my small hometown that sold patio furniture and pool chemicals and swimming toys and all sorts of junk that nobody needs.

There was no computer when I started. We were still using those little carbon copy slips to write out purchases. We calculated the tax with a calculator! Even more mind-boggling: we didn’t have a credit card machine. We had to set the credit card in this crazy little contraption and slide a mechanism over it to make an imprint and then have the customer sign the imprinted slip. It was bonkers.

We did get a computer system the next summer, and a real credit card machine that used the telephone line to dial out. Things went much faster once we could scan items, and I had a lot of fun entering inventory into the database and printing out new stickers whenever we got another box of junk.

That was a great job. I had a great boss who was good at managing the business and respected all the employees. I had an alcoholic coworker who showed up on time every morning, was super sarcastic and funny, and would take regular smoke breaks and report back to me on whatever obnoxious tourist bullshit was happening on the sidewalk. I had another coworker who taught me how to swear effectively in Spanish, and another who introduced me to modern country music.

One time I was standing at the cash register and a little girl approached the counter with tears in her eyes and a broken item in her hands. She explained, with her parents standing silently behind her, that she had been messing around and had accidentally broken the glass lawn ornament. Ashamed, she said she would like to pay for the broken item. I told took the two glass pieces from her and told her she was very brave for coming forward and admitting her mistake; because she had been so brave and honest we would not be charging her for the item.

See, when you work in a small business in a small town you can make decisions like this. (But I have no doubt my boss would have made the same call.)

Another time I was working with my younger, smaller, less-white coworker, when a man came in with his two daughters. The girls picked out a squirt gun, but when my coworker rang it up and the total was about $3 more than what was listed on the sticker. Clearly an inventory error and as I made my way to the front counter to correct it the man started berating my coworker.

I can’t remember exactly what he said, just that he called her stupid several times and there were some bad words thrown in there too.

I had been intending to override the cash register and honor the lower price on the sticker (obviously), but the man’s behavior had caused adrenaline to flood my system and by the time I got there I had decided on a different response.

“Hi, I’m the manager on duty,” I said. “You need to leave the store.”

This only pissed him off more and he started directing his vitriol at me, screaming about how he was just here to buy a squirt gun for his kids and I had no right to kick him out. More swearing. I wondered how often he behaved like this in front of his daughters.

“No, we don’t allow customers to treat us like this,” I said. “You really need to leave before I feel like I have to call the cops.”

The man left, angrily ranting the whole way.

This is the proudest moment of my entire life, and I talk about it regularly.

One of the most infuriating things about the job was how customers would let their kids just run rampant around the store. Bored kids would rearrange our shelves and their parents wouldn’t make them fix it. Hyperactive kids would dash around the patio furniture knocking over things. We constantly found broken items around the store.

I’m a parent now, so I understand being on vacation and wanting to do some shopping and just wanting the kids to keep themselves entertained for a couple minutes so you can pick out new sunglasses. But also as a parent, I have to ask: what the actual fuck. Do not let your kids make a massive mess for someone else to clean up, even if that someone else is a small-town minimum-wage employee.

This is why I was so impressed by the parents of the girl who tried to pay for the broken item. I worked at that store for five summers and that was the only time anyone offered to pay for a broken item.

Why was I thinking about all this? Well, the other day I was leaving the house without my purse. I tucked my keys into one pocket and my credit card and my ID into the other pocket. But why my ID? I wasn’t going to the liquor store and it has been a decade since I’ve been carded anyway. I never use my ID, but I always bring it with me if I’m bringing my credit card too.

Do you guys remember back in the 90s when everyone was writing “Check ID” in the signature area on their credit cards? Do you remember that we used to hand our credit cards over to the retail staff and they would actually check to make sure the signature on the slip matched the signature on the card? Or at least they were supposed to?

I remember that. I especially remember people being absolutely pissed when I would see “Check ID” written in their signature area and I would ask to see their ID. Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right. You only want people to check the ID when it’s a thief using your credit card. My bad.

One time I asked to see a guy’s ID and he said, “it’s in the boat.” I looked at his soggy shirt, squeaky water shoes, pink face, and windblown hair and thought that was probably true. I let the charge go through.

I don’t write “Check ID” on my credit cards, but it wouldn’t even matter if I did because nobody actually hands their credit card to a clerk anymore. I don’t even sign my credit cards. And yet there I was almost 25 years ago taking imprints of credit cards on carbon paper and checking identification like a goddamn fool.

For some reason this was my big lesson from this job: always carry your credit card and your ID together. Don’t leave your ID on the boat.

Also, don’t be an asshole to my coworker because I will kick you out of the store and then tell everyone about it for the rest of my life.