I got my first fake id within the first month of senior year of high school. I had a friend that I worked with a this Italian restaurant (restaurant friends are a combination of the movie Waiting and Anthony Bourdain's book Kitchen Confidential) that said he had Photoshop (a stolen version of course) and a standard set of false identification making tools. I gave the guy my real Virginia driver's license and a week's time to complete the task. $35 dollars later and I was ecstatic.
I was until I realized that I needed to get an Exacto knife and cut the id out of the laminate that covered it. I was told that after cutting it I would need to apply a glue stick to the sides and it would be complete. I did as assigned and what was suppose to be my fake id looked like a second grader had a picture of me, messed around with it on Microsoft Paint, and printed it on thick, shiny paper. Suddenly, the high risk of this investment was starting to prove to have little to no returns. A week later would prove it.
A week later I drove to the Shell station near to my house to engage in my first purchase of adult beverages... What would come to be the first of infinite. I was shaking harder than a black girl's ass in a rap video, and sweating as hard as one too. I attempted to walk in with confidence, but I thought that the black cashier had seen right through me. I still had time... time to get a regular drink or a candy bar... time to show up to my ,more than likely nonexistent, party sober and ask one of my more experienced fake id equipped friends to go get me a $6 dollar case of Natural Light (which I still drink to this day). But NO, I went for it.
I walked to the back left end of the convenient store, opened the door and picked up my 12 pack. I marched up to the counter. I didn't even think about a line. I didn't think about being seen by neighborhood gossipers or my parent's friends that would be sure to rat to my parents about my illegal purchases. There I stood... 17 with beer, and my growing nervousness was matched with the growing likelihood that my voice was going to crack when I spoke next. After what seemed like forever, the line moved; gas was paid, and cigarettes were purchased. I walked up to the cash register, and placed my 12 freezing friends on the counter.
"Wo' dat be aw fo yo toe-nite?" the black guy proposed
"Yes sir," I hushed to someone who probably was only a couple years older than me.
"$6 (something)," he mumbled.
I handed the cashier my money with exact change (I was prepared to leave as quickly as possible) in total astonishment. I walked back to my car (which was parked out of viewing distance) in shock. 'Did I really just buy beer without being carded?' 'Was it really that easy?' 'Why didn't I do this all summer?' That would have saved me the embarrassment of bumming beers off people. I could not believe it. I was somewhat relieved, but somewhat pissed that the cashier had not questioned me so that I could showoff my freshly purchased older identity.
That Shell station has treated me well over the years even with the attainment of identification upgrades. I can say 'years' with confidence because last week I was home for Thanksgiving... Another 12 of good ole' Natty.
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