Proof of Age

This evening I was being my old anal-retentive self, soaking the humidifiers for my cigar humidor in distilled water. I noticed that the Thompson Cigar Company logo was attached to the twin humidifiers.

I no longer do business with the Thompson Cigar Company. This followed my last order, placed in 2005. I ordered, waited patiently, the impatiently, and then called Customer Service to inquire about my errant cigars.

The customer service representative informed me that they couldn't ship the order without a proof of age. I had to prove that I was over 18 years of age. The company's solution, FAX a copy of my driver's license.

Maybe the Thompson Cigar Company has missed the whole identity theft thing. I politely informed them that faxing my driver's license was not going to happen. I then used logic, reminding the representative that I had been ordering cigars since 1992. So, unless I was 5 years old when I placed my first order, it was a good bet that I was over 18. I even suggested that she check my website, certainly the gray-haired dude fishing in the river was well to the north of the legal age.

Alas, logic and company policy rarely meet. No proof of age, no order.

I opted for no order.

Why, in an age of unprecedented competition and consumer choice, would a company make it so hard to do business with them? (I also have requested, on three occasions, that they take me off their mailing list...but the catalog still come and I garner a wee bit of perverse pleasure in tossing them out unopened...but in the recycle bin.)

My two Internet connections for this guilty pleasure are Holt's Cigars, http://www.holts.com/ and Cigars International, http://www.cigarsinternational.com/. I was introduced to the latter by Reas Pearce, the Michelangelo of house painters.

But most of my custom goes to Liberty Tobacco, http://www.libertytobacco.com/, a San Diego cigar store run by the irrepressible Charlie Hennigan. Totally politically incorrect, the store boasts a killer walk-in humidor, and incredible selection, a living-room type lounging area with a big screen TV and a cast of regulars.

And Charlie has never asked to see my driver's license.