Being 20 is one of the most awkward ages in a person’s life. You may live away from home, have a job, and pay for your own food and clothes, but you can’t (legally) walk into a bar and enjoy a drink or two. You’re over frat parties, getting wop spilled on you by drunk strangers, and hanging out at bars populated by a sea of under-classmen with shitty fake IDs.
We all go through the awkward pains of waiting for the big twenty-fun to come around, but somehow that doesn’t make it much better. At least you can wallow in your misery while you resonate with this list of the queries of a 20 year-old just trying to make it through one last non-legal year:
You make eye contact with the bouncer like a crazy person as he determines the fate of your night, and you hope that he’ll actually believe your name is Katie Cohen from Miami, FL who weighs 20 pounds more than you and looks old enough to be your (younger) mom.
You get into the bar and feel like the gates of heaven have just been opened for you.
Or you get denied and shamefully trek back the way you came in.
Or you got your ID taken and tried to put a curse on the bouncer (Does he not have a soul?).
When you do choose not to go out and deal with evil bouncers, you form deep, invested relationships with Olivia Pope and Jessica Day as you spend hours Netflixing.
Your friends suggest going to California for spring break, and you’re just like, “It’s Mexico or it’s not happening.”
You pester your older friends to buy you drinks at concerts, and the bartenders think they’re alcoholics.
Basically 90% of the reason you decided to study abroad is so that you can legally drink your Long Islands in peace (is there really that much difference in maturity levels from 20 to 21?!).
Deuces, America.
You’re green with envy as you watch all of your friends turn 21.
You’re out to dinner with the fam and try to order a glass of wine, and the waiter is just not having it.
As all my poor 20 year-old friends know, the struggle to finish is real. Only eight more months until I’m deemed mature enough to legally be a drunk idiot. A toast (of grape sparkling apple cider) to that, friends.