Hello all, I'm back.

I know if you were over 21 and frequented my places of business that you missed me. I also know that if you weren't over 21 you probably thought to yourselves that this was your chance.

Well, that's over now. Before I begin with the final countdown of fakes before my 200th milestone, let me share the answer to your most burgeoning question of late.

Why do I wear the gloves?

I've been asked this question more often than height or shoe size in the last few weeks. And it's getting old. 

Why do I wear the gloves?

Because y'all are nasty.

Think about where most of you keep your IDs. For men, it's in their wallet which is in their back pocket. For women on the town, your ID is more often than not in your bra. 

Men = Butts

Women = Boobs

And everyone sweats, especially in the summer. 

But that's not the primary reason why I wear the gloves. But, boy, is it up there.

I started working for a music venue again earlier this year. One of our policies is to clean up spills using absorption pads. You see a spill, grab a pad, soak up the spill, then pick up the pad and throw it away.

Pick up the pad and throw it away

Every pad becomes soaked in beer, cocktails, soda and other liquids that were just touching the floor a thousand people were walking/dancing on for hours.

No way am I doing this with my bare hands.

I simply translated the gloves from one job to the other. Before wearing the gloves at the bar, I cleaned up some cans and cups here and there, but now I'm more inclined to take care of my surroundings and lend, quite literally, a hand.

I've been doing this for almost 5 months. 

And people look at me and think I'm a germaphobe who goes back home to live in his plastic bubble.

Imagine this scenario and see if you yourself would be wearing gloves all the time.

You work your primary job in an office. It's early in your day and not much is happening until maybe 4 hours until quitting time when dozens of strangers enter your office for 'appointments.'

You don't mind them at first because the mood is lively and upbeat and you were just about to fall asleep at your desk playing solitaire waiting for an account to be updated via some corporate chain of command. 

But then you get bumped into by a drunk college guy named ... Trent. With his Eric Trump haircut, light blue button-down shirt, pink shorts, moccasins and nine pounds of cologne Axe engineers thought was "too much."

To make matters worse, he spills his drink on you. Then exhales demanding an apology. He stammers and stumbles, eventually leaving his empty beer bottle right at your desk.

If you're lucky, one of your fellow coworkers will pick it up for you. Luck, however, is not common currency in these situations because your entire staffed office is busy with their own version of Trent. You have to suck it up, pick up Trent's empty and toss it in a waste basket. 

Now repeat for three hours. 

Staring at the clock, wondering why your office is smelly, sticky and not the quaint cubby hole you remember it being that morning, you remind yourself you only have 15 minutes before all of these people leave. 

It's the last call and the lights go all the way up. Most leave, and you're relieved. Until the office conference room is full of 15 Trents. They remind you the night is far from over.

There are also two people in the bathroom A doing things they should not be doing and another person in bathroom B about to take a header into a toilet seat while their friend is holding their hair or beer. Or both.

One Trent gets testy and starts mouthing off. He even throws a few punches, swinging at air until one of them lands. An open wound. Blood. Sweat. Fluids.

Are you wearing gloves yet?

Office spaces do not deal with these scenarios every, or any, working day. But these same office workers are the human sampling pool that fills bars and clubs every weekend.

Please, be mindful of those service industry workers around you and what they have to deal with on any given shift.

And if you still want to ask me why I wear gloves, just wake up on Sunday morning, look in the mirror and review Saturday night's Snapchat stories.

I left for Spain needing 22 IDs to reach 200. I have a target date in mind for when I want to reach this goal, August 13.

Last weekend I caught another nine over Friday and Saturday in my first two 'official' nights back from vacation. I picked up a shift the Saturday before but I was frazzled beyond all get out, missing my bags, souvenirs, and suffering from some deep jet lag.

The only thing I earned for my troubles that night was a Bud Light being dumped on me.

I much prefer Fridays. Friday sets a nice tone that lifts my spirits when I can stomp on a minor's.

I shouldn't be this happy about being a jerk to kids.

Friday Fake No. 1: Duck, Duck, Mizzou?

Words to the wise, if there are three of you coming to the bar, and two of you are from the same city, but the third is from another state, guess who's going to be under the most suspicion? In this case, having a Missouri ID is useless if Facebook says you went to the local high school of your two friends.

Friday Fake No. 2: Feels Like the First Lie

A few months ago I had to profusely prove that I was not a huge racist. I took an ID of a person of Asian descent because I thought he was not the same person of Asian descent in the ID. I'm glad this new person of a different Asian locale didn't get so upset when I took his fake OF A DIFFERENT PERSON.

Listen, I like the challenge of peering into someone's eyes and knowing when they're going to lie to me. It's a weird thing I have where I have to be right. Like anticipating the moves someone throws during Rock, Paper, Scissors.

But when you bring a fake of another person, that's just lazy. I bet he lines up all his boats on the corners when he plays Battleship.

Friday Fake No. 3: "I don't have socia..."

Yes, you do. You all have Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. Or a LinkedIn profile. I can Google you in four seconds. Two if I had both hands, but I've got your fake in the other hand. I'm sorry it takes so long to prove your lies.

Friday Fake No. 4: Mamma Said There'd Be Days Like This

So right after No. 3, No. 4 hands me the ID and it's more blatant than the first. Blue eyes were supposed to be Brown and her height way off. Which, comparing the two (which both heights were off) is how I told No. 4's brother to back the hell off.

No. 3 had an ID showing a height of 5-foot-3. She was 5-6.

No. 4 had an ID showing a height of 5-5. She was wearing shoes making her even with No. 3.

Mathematically, they are both lying. If No. 4 is telling the truth, then her heels would've made her approximately 5-9, proving No. 3 very wrong as she was in sandals.

If No. 3 is telling the truth, then her version of 5-3 means No. 4 in heels is actually more akin to 4-11. 

No. 4 also thought to have her mom's debit card was an adequate backup. She claimed she can't be lying because she had her mom's card. No way she can be a bad daughter.

Yes, you can. You're just being a bad other daughter.

Saturday Fake No. 1: Handy Minny

Every kid growing up in Michigan is taught to show on their hand where they're from. Where is Grosse Pointe? It sure as hell isn't smack dab in the middle of your palm. Take that palm and move it right into your face.

Saturday Fake No. 2: Robin's Egg Blah

Speaking of Michigan, the next two IDs were forged Michigan's which are very hard to come by, let alone see a passable forgery.

The material is expensive, the risk is high and the reward low due to the amount of money these kids spend on this certain type of fake ($160 on average).

The first ID was bad on most accounts. The bridge was blurry, fonts were all over the place. Ink color mismatches and the UV on the back was showing up on the front rounded out the alerts buzzing in my head.

Saturday Fake No. 3: Magnetic Personality

The second Michigan fake went one step further in its shaky fakeness.

I peeled off the magnetic strip.

I'm not supposed to be able to do that.

Saturday Fake No. 4: Albino Aligator

It's bad when the flash hits your face so hard that your skin tone blends into the background color (white). This poor kid's picture looks like what Casper would look like if he saw some deeper level of a ghost ... and then a flash photograph is taken. In reality, the kid was far from albino. I think he just misclicked his order and received the Michael Jackson Photoshop treatment.

Dude's photo was very white is what I'm trying to say. 

Saturday Fake No. 5: Miss Rhogue Island

This girl had the confidence of Uncle Phil in a pool hall but with none of the tact.

Nobody is from Rhode Island. Or Utah. These are states with such low populations that it's easier to believe every ID I see from these states is fake. To this date both Rhode Island IDs I've ever seen were fake and so were 3/5 from Utah.

But she was in for the fight.

Claiming that MY treatment of HER was "disrespectful," she constantly showed her true colors by trying to steal the ID back from my hand.

And I don't use the word stealing very often, but she knew what she was doing and being a real a-hole about it.

Now we're into the fact checking segment.

"Why are you in the state?"

"I went to school here. I have a job in Rhode Island now."

Went. She went to school here.

I check Facebook, the new treasure trove of public information. 

"And where do you work now?"

...

"We could also sort this by you showing your birthday on Facebook."

"You know what, I will."

This is where I thought I might be wrong. The ID didn't crease (until much later in the night) and the information was all correct. If it wasn't for her attitude she might have been safe.

I use might very loosely.

Rhogue brings up Facebook but leaves her thumb hovering over the About page.

"What's the problem?"

"The way you are treating me is so disrespectful. Can I have my ID back?"

"Why? Just hit the button and settle this right now. I'll give you the ID back, personally apologize and you can decide to enter or leave the bar."

...

"It's just one button. And you're clearly 21, right?

...

"I mean, it's not like graduating high school in 2016 would be any indication of you being under 21 like this Facebook page suggests? Right?"

"You're going to get such a bad review. I'm telling everyone how f***ing awful (the bar) is on all the reviews."

There are no reviews.

Yeah, I'm back.