Excuses, Excuses
I like to avoid conflict at all costs. I do not seek to start fights, get into shouting matches, fly into any sorts of rage or engage or embroil myself into already hostile engagements. Then again, it sure is fun to be on the right side of history -- no matter how trivial they may seem in the long run.
This week at the bar I had to make people hug it out. If not for someone stepping up to two adults over a misheard word and a spilled $3 well drink, we would have a big-time bar brawl. Instead, as with most cases, I lowered myself down to their level, wrapped one arm around each of these "tough guys" and made them embrace each other in a come to Jesus moment. Yes, I made two men hug in a bar to avoid a fight. I wish it was always this easy.
Cut to one night later where I made another "tough guy" who snuck in at 1:51 a.m. hug it out, but this time with himself ... and the ground. The bastard also grabbed my signature winter hat from my head, forcing me to give chase down the street before he let up and abandoned his prize in the middle of the intersection.
Now for the main course. Fake ID stories.
Friday ID No. 1: Cut and paste
A straightforward bad Photoshop job on an Illinois ID. Not the one pictured above, but still not good enough to fool any of the bouncers.
Friday ID No. 2: ROT-See ya later
A military ID. I thought I'd get a military ID much sooner than eight months, while my manager thought he'd never get one. And this isn't to say that the ID was a forgery. It was genuine, just given to the minor by the rightful face and name. The blond ROTC woman was of age and came into the bar 10 minutes before the minor using it showed up.
You could see her in line trying to memorize the card, but even if she had reworked the card from memory it still wouldn't change her entire ethnic background to that of an extremely pale white lady with bleach blond locks. Needless to say, this was a serious case requiring a commanding officer to get involved. ROTC may not be FUBAR but she sure won't hear the all clear either.
Saturday ID No. 1: H.E. Double Hockey Sticks
I direct your eyes to the Illinois ID in the picture. This was another case of things not being good. The picture is too clearly cropped from someplace else and the red border bar on the top runs off the upper left corner and the sticker was easy to remove. Aside from those features, this was a decent fake as the name, birth day and month and ID number were all valid. I was easily able to find her online through a google search revealing her correct age (19) and real home state (MI).
Saturday ID No. 2: Indiana, what did I ever do to you?
Only one other time has a person stayed to argue about their ID for more than 10 minutes: a small woman claiming to be eight inches taller the weekend after Labor Day. She spent 15 minutes trying to convince me that her father was a police officer and he was going to arrest me for stealing her ID. All bullshit, of course. As I've mentioned earlier, I welcome the police. By all means, call the cops on me.
But Indy kept on pushing, both figuratively and literally, her way past the 15-minute record holder into half hour territory. She was adamant that I made the mistake and I was going to pay dearly for it. Let's make this clear. I do not "steal" IDs. All are voluntarily handed to me upon entry to the bar. I may confiscate IDs I deem to be forgeries or misrepresentations of the people standing before me.
This is not a robbery. But even if it was, I'm not the one getting in trouble. Worst case scenario for me is some egg on my face in being overzealous in face-reading abilities. The worst case scenario for the minor and/or the liar is up to $100 in fines and three months in jail.
Your choice.
Indy wanted none of this. Indy was approximately 5-foot-2, with light green or light blue eyes and a bran muffin over 100 pounds. The ID was for a woman 5-7, with brown eyes and 140 pounds. Probably a sister or cousin, but someone who would have definitely been angrier at her more than I will ever be once she found out her ID is in a bouncer's left outside breast pocket instead of her wallet.
Indy tried many excuses. The DMV got my height wrong. I have lighter eyes. I lost a lot of weight. I will usually grant one of those three to be true (weight), but not all three. I may have once called salsa "tortilla sauce," but I'm not dumb.
Still, Indy put up a fight, yelling that I was breaking the law. Poking and prodding at my jacket pocket where I kept the ID. If she was indeed 5-7 she would have had a much better chance at grasping the top of the zipper. She did not back down after threats of trespassing, still believing the cops would be on her side, though she never called.
Because they never call. I so badly want them to incriminate themselves. Finally, it was a friend already inside that gave her up. Her name was Cory or Brianna, or ... the actual name she's using after he leaned over asking what the name was on the ID within full earshot of all the bouncers and the now adequate darts-throwing bartender. Case closed.
She called the bar the very next day asking to get the ID back. Sorry lady, it's going to be a hard no.
Saturday ID No. 3: Mass is a miss
I thought I heard all the excuses before. I deleted social media. But not the snaps you were sending while in line? I grew my hair out. From the eyebrows? That's a bold change. I'm going on a cleanse. Of your forehead? But Massachusetts takes the cake. The first and last name were already very simple. Samantha Smith. I'm sure there are thousands of Sam Smiths in every state. But the picture was off, namely the eyebrows, ears, nose and jawline. Basically the whole face.
OK, do you mind showing a credit card with your name on it?
I only have cash.
Fine, do you have a facebook account or even a LinkedIn profile you have access to?
I deleted social media for lent.
But not mass quantities of alcohol, I see. Well, let me see ...
I also had a nose job.
Nope. Have a nice night. Nose job? Are you serious? If something is so drastically changed about your face I'm pretty sure the state would wish to know about it. Nose job. Did they give you eyebrow implants, too? Next.
Saturday ID No. 4: Road to Rhode Island
Another bad cut-and-paste job where you could see the thin white outline around her head in the picture. She swore up and down she was from Peter Griffin's neck of the woods but one more inspection and the sticker came rolling right off. But not all the way. I wanted to try my hand at some showmanship for the crowd outside.
I peeled it halfway before walking outside and, raising the ID in my hands like Simba before the animal kingdom, ripped the sticker from the plastic and told RI-RI to get the hell away from my bar. This was ID No. 4 on the night, but the third in 15 minutes.
Yes, that means Indiana girl was still hanging around while both Mass and RI-RI were in my face. RI-RI's boyfriend said it was genuine and that I should test his. I had to explain to him that that was impossible as his was a Michigan ID made from Teslin, and had no sticker, just a coating. Short story even shorter he was politely asked to move and did.
Saturday ID No. 5: "I don't know where my hands have been."
Please read that sentence one or 50 more times to see if it makes sense. It still doesn't to me and I heard it straight from Mickey Blue Eyes' mouth. Mickey was another case of a short girl with a taller girl's ID. The ID, however, belonged to someone who turned 21 in January.
Boy, won't they be pissed when they find out their enhanced ID was joining such elite company in my pocket? The main issue I had was not the height, but the eye color. The ID said brown and her eyes were blue. She said she was wearing contacts.
Prove it.
What? That's stupid.
Here, I'm wearing contact lenses, let me show you how easy it is to move a lens.
That's gross. I don't know where my hands have been.
She didn't say "your hands" because she understood I was not asking permission to poke her in the eye. She said "my hands." What kind of life do you live where you can't remember what you've touched in the four hours you've been out walking the city? Mickey, you blew my mind.
