drinking in the foreign land of Connecticut

After seeing Peter's friend Alan in a community theater production of South Pacific, we met him for drinks at an Italian restaurant/bar. A waitress with hair resembling electrocuted ramen noodles carded us- no problem, since I was the youngest at 24. She squinted suspiciously at my New York State driver's license for thirty seconds before announcing that she'd have to take it in the back and examine it further. Apologizing for the inconvenience, she put a pitcher of beer and glasses for everyone else on the table. She emerged ten minutes later with a waiver for me to sign. Apparently, my genuine driver's license from a state bordering her own was not acceptable proof of age, yet I could sign a piece of paper promising to be 21 and she would serve me alcohol. Connecticut is not a big state- surely they have occasional travellers from neighboring states passing through on their way from Boston to New York? But wait- the carding experience was not over once I signed the waiver! The waitress compared every detail with my license. I started to sweat- what if she measured me and found out I'm really 5'10" and 3/4 instead of 5'10"? Sure enough, I had failed the test- I wrote my current address instead of my parents' address on the form. I conceded to change it and the waitress handed me back my license, which I examined for teeth marks in case she had bitten it to see if it was real.