As you may have read previously, I had the esteemed pleasure of being under legal drinking age the entirety of my college career. As you may also have ready previously, it’s the reason why my Mother (yes, my mother) suggested I “borrow” my sister’s ID cards while at school.
Mind you, my mom will claim she suggested this solely so I could go out with my friends and not feel left out, but I’m pretty sure she knew what she was doing…
A couple things happen when you have a fake (or in this case, someone elses) ID cards. First you get very anxious the first 3-10 times you use it. When you do so successfully you start to enter the second phase: feeling confident enough to use it regularly.
My first time in the “confidence phase” was on Spring Break in Panama City Beach (the dirtiest place I’ve ever visited) at a bar when the bouncer took my friends fake and then questioned me about mine before deciding it was real and letting me go. He asked me what my astrological sign was (my sister is a Leo) and what year I graduated high school (I won’t tell you the answer lest my sister get offended that I’m talking about her…)
After comfortably within the confidence phase a shift will take place and you will enter the land of cockiness. This is the phase you are in when you stupidly tell a bouncer to call the cops when he doesn’t believe the ID is real…
So sometime during my junior year of college a large group of my friends (including a group of fraternity boys) decided to go bowling at one of the two lanes in middle-of-nowhere-Indiana. When we walked up there were cops/bouncers checking IDs and giving wristbands to the over 21 crowd.
The way they had set up the bowling fun is that you could buy cheap pitchers (like $6…it’s a college town after all) and then you got a cup if you had a wrist band.
Also, for those of you who’ve never spent time in the midwest, it’s cold like, all the time. So I was wearing a long sleeve cardigan over my t-shirt. Which, to me, meant I could get away with drinking without having a wrist band. Right? Wrong….
So I’m standing there with my friends, waiting for my turn to bowl, drinking beer out of a clear plastic cup when a nice man in a zipper jacket, jeans and a baseball hat walks up to me and says “I need you to come with me. Please bring your ID.” Normally I’d be all STRANGER DANGER and say no, but he happened to also be flashing his badge at me…so with him I went while claiming I had forgotten my ID at home.
We walk over to the desk where you reserve lanes and get your grody bowling shoes that have been quickly sprayed with disinfectant and he pulls out a pad of paper and a pen.
Me: Joanne [redacted] (aka, my sister)
Officer: Social Security Number? [I rattled it off…it’s my SISTER, I’ve learned this shit…actually, to this day I still know it]
He asks me to stay put while he goes into the office and makes a call. I very diligently followed directions while
hoping praying willing my friends to stay away and let me handle my shit the way I know I can now that I am in the phase of cockiness. When he returns he has scribbled a lot of things on his pad of fun…
Officer: So, Joanne. It’s quiz time. It’s time to find out who you are… Height?
Me: 5’8″ [I’m 5’5″]
Officer: Eye color?
Officer: Address? [I answered this correctly this time…]
Officer: Driver’s License number?
Me: Um.. F…6…3…. I honestly don’t know.
Officer: Those are correct. Very few people know theirs. I was sort of testing you
Me: That’s tricky.
At this point he walks away from me and leaves me completely hanging and confused. I can’t tell if I am getting away with it or getting arrested.
After a couple minutes (or realistically 15 second that felt like forever) he came back with a wrist band and put it on my wrist. “Next time you leave your license at home, have an officer run your info rather than risk the bowling alley losing their liquor license over you, will ya?”
I profusely promised to never EVER put the bar in that position again and walked hurriedly back to my lanes where my friends looked horrified and concerned but also completely clueless. I immediately changed my name on my lane to a nickname and gave everyone a quick update.
And that is the story of the second time I beat the cops. Still not the last…