The summer I was seventeen, I had in my purse a signed contract to take charge of a oneroom school in Muskoka Falls in September. On the strength of this, I felt sufficiently mature to go with my husband-to-be along with my older sister and her boyfriend into the Albion Hotel in Gravenhurst, Ontario for a cold beer.
The waiter stared at me. “I’m a teacher,” I announced, waving my contract under his nose.
“You’re also under age. I know your family. Leave! Right now.”