I will never, ever forget the first time.
No clue what I was about to do, although I had seen it done several times.
What if it all goes horribly wrong?
What if someone walks in and says something?
Would I be so nervous, I couldn’t go through with it?
God, I am sweating already and it hasn’t even started.
But, here goes. You never know until you try right?
Here we go.
“How is it going tonight?”
“That will be 6 bucks and 42 cents.”
“Here ya go.”
“You got any I.D. boy?”
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet.
Damn Joe, don’t hand him your real I.D. Hand him the fake I.D.
“There ya go…..sir….”
“Here is your change.”
I grab the 12 pack and walk outside and around the building to the car.
I get in and say, “Drive. Just drive. Get away from here before we get caught and go to prison.”
At 16 years old, I just bought my first 12 pack with a fake I.D. In Panama City, too. On a high school spring break trip.
Do you know what this means? To a 16 year old boy?
Heaven on earth.
My first fake I.D. that was so bad, my address was listed as “362 Burning Tree Drive. USA.”
That’s it. No city. No state. I was 16 years old, but my birthday on there was 10/25/58.
HA! I was 26 years old. At 16.
I had totally forgotten about my fake I.D. until I was back in Florida last week and saw some young kids in the store buying beer. They had I.D.’s that passed by the checker but they looked 16.
Do you remember your first fake I.D.? It was like gold in your pocket. Invincible. Bullet proof. You were all of that and more.
Let’s go back in time again.
Would the fake I.D work back in Nashville?
It had to work. It just had to.
God, what if my mom found out? I would be done for.
The old S.D.I. market near my house in Hermitage. No wait, they know me there. How about another store in another part of town? Yes!
Same pressure as in PCB. Sweating, nervous, and so much tension that I could have pooped a diamond.
“Is that all for you?”
“OK, can I see your I.D.?”
Oh man, here we go.
“Hold up. Burning Tree? Really?”
Joe, run. Just run and get the hell out of there. But before my brain relayed that message to my feet, this….
“Cool. My girlfriend’s mom lives over there.”
“Hey, that’s cool. Small world.”
As I sounded just like Pee Wee Herman.
I used this I.D. for the next two years until I returned to PCB and got one that had an actual city and state on it.
And, the first time I used the new one, I got it taken away from me trying to get into a club in Nashville.
I went back to the old I.D. and never had a problem again.
362 Burning Tree Dr, USA.
Heaven on Earth. At least on paper.
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