I’m in a bar at the Sarasota Airport with hours to kill – I arrived, as always, early, and the flight is an hour and a half late. Luckily there’s wifi and a big glass of wine. The very cute waiter, after taking my order, told me that according to the regulations of the state, he’d have to see some I.D. before bringing me alcohol. “You’re joking, right?” I asked, thinking, what flattery, is he flirting with me?