Big, scary man.

   Last year I was faced with the reality that the age difference between my boyfriend and I had reached its first downside. The almost exact one and a half year gap between us allowed him to turn 21…without me.

   I never had a desire to go to the bars before because we found other things to keep us busy before the fateful day he left me in Underage Land. But now the idea of him being able to go struttin’ around downtown, drinking Vodka Sours and squeezing through crowds sans-me was perturbing.

   I’m not a particularly adventurous person, especially when it comes to things that could potentially get me in big trouble, but sometimes I like to pretend. I definitely wasn’t about to go pay $200 for some smarty-pants with a good printer to make me a fake ID, so I went with option B: use my boyfriend’s roommate’s brother’s wife’s old ID. Obviously.

   I was super anxious when my boyfriend and the other Of-Agers decided they’d be going downtown for the evening. They asked me to join and I had to convince myself it was time to put my poorly developed lying skills to the test. I tried to make myself look older by applying more eyeliner than normal, wearing my Victoria’s Secret ultra-padded pink bra, and my only pair of skinny jeans. I realized all that effort had the opposite effect. I simply looked like a girl trying to look older. So I started over and, remembering I’m only a year under age, decided I’d probably pass.

   On the way downtown, I dutifully memorized all the details of my new ID. I had my boyfriend quiz me about each detail to make sure I knew who I would be this fateful evening. He assured me no one would come up to me and demand I spell my middle name but I couldn’t be too careful.

   We went downtown fairly early, before the bouncers appeared, so I had no trouble getting into bar #1. Our crew found a booth-like area near the back of the bar to inhabit and in no time a scandalously clad girl appeared to ask us what we’d like to drink. I was taken off guard because between all my ID studying, I hadn’t even thought about drinking. I had no idea what to order and everyone was looking at me expectantly as the chick asked me what I would like. I could feel my throat tightening out of pure stress and I’m sure my cheeks were the color of her unflattering red lipstick. Thankfully, my boyfriend came to my aid and said “She’d like a rum and Coke”.

   Oh, really? Actually I would’ve preferred something a little less…manly, but I was thankful that all attention was off of me so I could wipe the sweat from my eyebrows discretely. I was also thankful that the girl didn’t ask for my ID. So far so good. Kind of.

   We stayed at that bar for a couple hours until it started to get pretty crowded and the only thing we could see from our booth location were people’s rear ends. I was more than ok with just staying there, sipping my man-drink and concentrating on ensuring people I really could hold my alcohol even though I can’t. But the guys were insisting on going down the street for some discount hour at another bar. By this time, I was already feeling my beverage and was definitely not thinking clearly so I just followed them along like a puppy.

   I was amazed at how many people were downtown! So that’s where everyone goes on the weekends. Not to the bowling alley, not to the movies, not to IHop, my usual locations. I always wondered…

   I clung to my boyfriend’s arm as he directed our hoard toward the next stop. I kept mentally repeating the details of my ID on the off chance someone at our new bar would ask me to recite them. Once again, I was assured no one would bother because I was with a group of people who definitely looked 21. We got to bar #2 and had to stand in a fairly long line as people squeezed through the single door entry just to squeeze through the crowded interior I could see through the frosty paned windows. It was exciting! Out of my excitement, I offered to go first.

   The line slowly moved along until I caught a glimpse of the real hold-up: a bouncer. A giant of a man with the stereotypical too-tight black shirt and over-gelled dark hair. He seemed to be scrutinizing everyone’s IDs. My heart started beating 120 times faster than normal.

   Before I knew it, I was up. I stepped forward with mustered confidence and tried to just squeeze by, hoping to just be let through by my pure casualty and sexy facial expression. It didn’t work apparently because suddenly a huge, hairy arm shot out in front of my neck, blocking my path. I stepped backwards and looked my adversary in the eyes as steadily as I could.

   “ID,” he stated, his arm still outstretched, but this time waiting for me to hand him the license. I reached into my back pocket and withdrew it then stuck it in his enormous palm. He looked it over and glanced up at me a few times, a weird sly look on his face. I thought nothing of it and kept looking into the crowd inside to make it seem like my homies were in there already and that being held up was simply preposterous.

   A girl who apparently worked there suddenly appeared at the bouncer’s side as well as another, smaller bouncer-looking guy. I was internally starting to panic but my current inebriated state was forcing me to stay cool and collected on the exterior.

   “What’s your name,” he asked. I said it, nice and slow.

   “What’s your address,” he demanded again. I told him, nice and slow.

   “Your birthdate,” he inquired. It took me a second to remember the month, but I told him. Nice and slow.

   I had done it! I had passed the test! He lowered the ID from in front of his face and reached out with is other hand, I assumed to pat me on the shoulder for being so….I don’t know, mature. But then his arm was around my shoulders and I was being pulled to the side, out of the front of the line. I didn’t know what was happening but I tried to grab the ID from his hand. He held it up out of my reach and said, “Ok, so here’s the deal. This isn’t your ID. You know it and I know it. So you’ve got two options. One, you can just stand right here while I call the cops and they come talk to you about a little thing called identity theft. Or two, you let me keep this ID and I’ll tack it over there onto the Wall of Shame along with all the others, and when you actually turn 21 you can come back and we’ll get you drunk for free! So, what’s it gonna be?”

   Everyone in line was watching me. I’m sure I looked like I was either about to throw up or start crying. After a few seconds I did the best thing I could think of.

   I gave him the peace sign, said “peace out”, and ran away.

   I was swiftly walking along the sidewalk, momentarily forgetting I came with at least seven other people, but simply wanting to escape what had just happened. The cops! The bouncer definitely called them because I ran! They’d be after me any seconds, chasing me with their night sticks and yelling “you’re under arrest!” My heart was pounding and I was evaluating every alley I passed to determine whether or not I would be able to hide there for a few hours because I’m sure I was now a fugitive. They were all too scary and dark so I decided I’d walk home even though I couldn’t remember what direction home was in.

   Suddenly I felt my boyfriend’s arms on my shoulders and he whipped me around. He was mad that I left them but after he saw my facial expression, he started laughing uncontrollably. Everyone was laughing.

   “What’s so funny?!” I asked, irritated and overwhelmed. Between the laughs, someone informed me I was horrible at recanting my name, address, and birthday to the bouncer and that there was no way anyone would’ve bought my act. Apparently, “nice and slow” when you’re slightly intoxicated is extremely slow to someone who is not. So I looked like an idiot with an obvious fake ID. Awesome.

   They also informed me that the cops wouldn’t waste their time chasing a girl over a fake ID that had already been taken away. Thank God. That would have been difficult to explain to my parents.

   It was definitely the talk of the next few weeks as different people did their own impressions of my encounter with that big, scary man. I was bummed that I lost the ID, especially because I’d borrowed it from someone, but I couldn’t help laughing along with the rest.

   Needless to say, I haven’t tried that again.