A few months ago, I went to happy hour with some coworkers at our local watering hole. It was a rainy Wednesday night, the place wasn’t terribly busy, and our group easily got a corner booth. An unfamiliar waiter greeted our group and promptly asked to see all of our IDs. New York, Maryland, Connecticut, and Pennsylvania were passed around the table, along with one iPhone. “What’s this?” the waiter asked. “I lost my ID last weekend,” said my friend. “Will you accept my Facebook profile as proof of age?”