After the day's debacle, I went down to the Tiki-themed bar at the Wilshire Grand. I took a stool at the bar and ordered a virgin margarita on the rocks. The bartender asked for my ID. I didn't have it, but I explained that I am, in fact, old enough. My companion also claimed to be over 21; in fact he's thirty, just a few months older than me. She wasn't interested in his ID. Then she asked for $4.00. I didn't have any cash, or in fact, any negotiable currency substitutes. I asked to bill it to my room. She is at this point extremely skeptical. I showed her my room key, which gave me at least a bit of credibility, and checked my last name in her computer. "I'm standing here shaking my head" she said as I patted myself down looking for some proof that I'm over 21. She gave me the margarita -- yes, virgin -- and I went up to the room and found my driver's license before ordering my next drink: a shirley temple.

On the show floor I am regularly mistaken for an undergrad. I'm dressed pretty professionally, trying to make a professional impression, and I replaced my faux-hawk with a restrained bowl cut, but still, I look like an undergrad. I enjoy it, but what do I have to do to come across as my age?

I turn thirty in two weeks.