I once thought that nothing on earth could be as humiliating as being called out on a fake ID. I distinctly remember going to Beauty Bar when I was 19 with my friend Steph's ID, and having the bouncer humiliate me in front of all of my friends, and my 30 year old date. It was horrible. Since I'm now 24 (i.e. so old I'm practically dead), I figured I was pretty much safe from ever going through that torture again.
Friday night, however, I discovered that there is in fact something worse than being called out on a fake ID, and that is being called out on a fake ID that's real.
Isabelle and Natasha had decided to subject me to an evening at the worst club in all of Manhattan since Twilo closed, Home. I don't know why they chose to do this to me... I hadn't done anything to them. Perhaps they genuinely wanted to go, but I think it's far more likely that I was being punished for doing something horribly wrong, although I don't know what that may have been.
Ever since some underage Jersey bimbo got raped and killed after getting wasted at Guest House one night, club row has been a disaster. In addition to the trashy B&T crowd that litter the street as it is, there's an addition of dozens of cops, tons of floodlights and even surlier beefed up bouncers.
One said bouncer, a sixty something Russian with a stomach larger than my apartment an a brain smaller than my desire to go to Home in the first place, decided that my ID was a fake. He very politely told me to get the hell away from the front door, and then proceed to threaten my with arrest.
This was particularly amusing considering that I was USING MY OWN ID. Ok, so maybe I don't look exactly the same as the day I had it taken.... I was going through some.... stuff at that point in my life, but do I look so drastically different that no one, not the bouncer who grabbed my ID, nor any of his seven bouncer friends would believe it was me? I think not.
The misplaced member of the KGB proceeded to inform me that I had two choices. I could either admit where I had gotten the ID, or he would call the cops over and they would fingerprint me and arrest me right there.
Lets pretend for a moment that this was in fact a fake ID. How old could this guy possibly have thought I was to believe that the cops were going to whip out their fingerprinting kits which they keep on them at all times, connect them to the DMV database they can magically access through their nightsticks, see that I was not in fact the girl on my ID, and then arrest me? Not since I was 6 and my father told me that if I had a sleep over at a friends house ivy would cover my room and I could never come home again has a ridiculous man made such a blatantly unfounded threat to my face.
At this point, i told him to please call the cops over. When he wouldn't, I did. turns out they neither a travel fingerprinting kit nor a even a scanner. They were actually LESS equipped than the bouncers to determine whether or not my ID was really me. They did, however, provide the invaluable service of... sipping coffee and wandering around, so I could clearly see why they were needed.
It was about this time that Isabelle decided to "help" my cause by coming over and explaining to the growing circle of bouncers and cops "Look, it's her... just caused she's aged, figured out how to apply make up and realized that her hair needs to be straightened doesn't mean she's a whole different person!" This failed to convince anyone, but it certainly gave me a much need ego boost.
Eventually, the nazi youth in charge of running the god forsaken club decided to let me in... although they intimated it was more of a favor than a recognition of their massive incompetence. After that I was blessed with an evening of skeezy men up in my face, bad music blaring loudly and long lines for the bathroom, so ultimately it was worth the degradation.
It just goes to show you how rewarding it is to improve your self. Now I'm debating whether it's easier to get a new ID, or cut all my hair off, over pluck my eyebrows and gain 20 pounds.
I know which would be more fun...
