The Final Countdown
Growing up, did you ever think you'd be the best at something?
Not very good or way above average. Not even the valedictorian or president of the United States. This isn't about achieving the top spot. It's about knowing that you are better than anyone else in the entire world at one thing for one moment.
I feel that way whenever I walk into work on Friday and Saturday nights.
I feel like I am the absolute best at checking someone's ID.
Which is strange, because I thought I was going to be a taxi driver at age 4. A drummer a little after that. A professional football player. An ESPN analyst. A congressman (for the sweet healthcare).
I always had a backup plan.
Now I'm turning childhood and teenage dreams into realistic expectations. And crushing it.
Although, technically, I did become a taxi driver with Uber and Lyft.
I know I'm not the most personable door guy, security guard, marketing coordinator, uber driver and freelance writer, but I'm by no means terrible at any of them either.
I started this blog with 65 IDs under my belt. That was March 6, 2017. Now, five months later I have a chance to reach 200. In my mind, I'm the best at what I do in my city. In my state.
I have no empirical evidence to base this on.
It's just a feeling.
I just have to make sure my confidence in checking an ID outmatches the confidence of someone using it. And now I'm in the final countdown of an arbitrary goal I set for myself earlier this year.
When I walk into work on Friday night I think I'm the best there ever was.
At this one particular thing.
On this one particular night.
Shouldn't you feel the same about your job?
Friday Fake No. 1 (188): ColoraNo
Word to the wise, don't be the last guy in a group of four that's two years older than everyone else and from out of state. I'm going to look at you harder than the others. You have to know that's a given.
Friday Fake No. 2 (189): KY Jelly
One friend got in with valid ID. One man from the Bluegrass state did not.
Friday Fake No. 3 (190): My Friends Say I should Know My Name.
For this tale, I'm going to use a fake name. We'll call this man 'Benjamin.'
Except Benjamin couldn't spell Benjamin. But he gave it a shot anyway. (And yes, his name was as simple as Benjamin).
"Please spell your first name."
"B. E. N. ... Jamin."
"B. E. N. Jamin. As in Jammin'? That's what you're going with?
"Yeah. Yeah. Can I go in?
No. No, you may not. I still wonder if he thought Ben and Jamin were two different names.
Saturday Fake No. 1 (191): What's My Name Again?
"Spell your middle name, please"
"Marie."
No, your middle name."
No answer as she slinks into the darkness.
Saturday Fake No. 2 (192): Disgusting
"I'm not getting it back?" is the whiniest phrase you can say when someone takes your ID. Duh, you're not getting it back. I'm not here to reward your lies.
Saturday Fake No. 3 (193): Hazel Haze
The best part about seeing and hearing someone spit out their ID line by line is knowing they're five inches too tall and you were going to take the ID anyway. All that wasted memorization. There's a neglected economics book somewhere in her college history.
Saturday Fake No. 4 (194): No Kidding
The second whiniest phrase is "You've got to be kidding me," said as if I'm the bad guy. What a bad boyfriend.
Saturday Fake No. 5 (195): Simple Simon Met a Cake Dude, or Something
This is peak Trump America, where women don't know how old they are and which month comes after the other. And then still feel entitled to reap the rewards.
"How old are you?
"22. No, 21. No. 21. Yeah. 22."
THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED
"OK ... what month were you born in?
"July. We're in July, right. Yeah, no, yeah. June."
I weep for America.
Saturday Fake No. 6 (196): Jokes Are Bad
Not all jokes are bad but don't play off lying as a joke right away to someone checking your ID. There are only like five people who need to see your ID. Cops, immigration officers, payroll managers, bank tellers and bouncers. That's pretty much it.
And then you get it taken away because you 'joke' about having a different birthday.
Actually, wait. I laughed my ass off.
Good joke.
I'm not sold on getting another cake for 200. Frankly, my body doesn't need it and there was so much left over.
Any suggestions?
