My identity didn’t expire.
I’d have to say I’m 100% over the agregious cockdouchery of the California Department of Motor Vehicles right about now. Send me my GD driver’s license already.
You see, a few weeks ago (2 months ago) my license was stolen (I lost it at the gym). Under normal circumstances, going to the DMV and paying $25 for a new license should make said license appear in your mailbox within 10-14 business days. (I know this because my license was stolen (lost by me) in April as well.) But since they’re revamping the CA DL, it’s taking an eternity and a half. And I want to stab someone in the anything.
If you’ve recently had your license stolen (lost), you’ll know this as well. You’ll also know that in the meantime they give you a piece of paper that displays all of your vital identification information, and this piece of paper expires about 2 months after they give it to you (so lucky me, I get to go back to the DMV soon to get another fucking piece of paper). You then have to use this piece of paper along with some other form of picture ID to get into bars and buy alcohol and be alive.
I think you’ll agree that this is fucking ridiculous.
I was smart enough, at least, to keep a copy of my license that expired in 2006 for such occasions, so I’ve had no problems getting in anywhere, but realistically that’s not the point.
The point is that just because this stupid fucking card expired didn’t mean my identity expired. Yet, people still feel the need to be doucheweiners and give me a hard time about the expired license, expired passport and interim paper driver’s license I’ve been using to identify myself as an of-age individual who enjoys hitting the sauce.
And I definitely met King, Queen and Princess Doucheweiner last night at Albertsons when attempting to purchase wine for the roomie gift exchange that resulted in me finding out that my living companion had a custom cup made for me that says “WEINERSLAM.” (<— SO good.)
Here’s how shit went down when I presented my expired license (which looks EXACTLY like my current license would, BTW) and my interim paper bullshit:
Barely-audible Asian checker (Princess Doucheweiner): Oh no, we don’t accept these.
Me: You don’t accept what? Driver’s licenses?
Princess Doucheweiner: The papers.
Me: But you realize it’s a driver’s license. Accompanied by a photo ID. From the DMV.
Princess Doucheweiner Yes but we don’t take them.
Me: How do you not take them? It’s a driver’s license. How else am I supposed to identify myself? My license is lost, and that’s what the DMV gave me.
PAUSE. I also happened to have my expired passport with me, but I didn’t want to reveal this because it was more of an issue of principle rather than speedy booze-purchasing. UNPAUSE.
Princess Doucheweiner: Ok, I call my manager.
Sassy Latina (Queen Doucheweiner) manager arrives.
Queen Doucheweiner: What’s the problem?
Princess Doucheweiner: Eh uh wah uh *this.*
Queen Doucheweiner: Yeah, you see here, it says we can’t take these.
Me: Right, I mean you’re not going to take the piece of paper by itself, but it’s with an expired license that PROVES MY AGE. This is ridiculous, I bought alcohol here with this a few weeks ago.
Queen Doucheweiner: Here, really? I doubt that. Who was your checker?
Me: Why the hell would I remember that? But it was on December 4 and I bought a 12-pack of Stella, do you still think I’m lying?
Queen Doucheweiner: Well that’s grounds for termination for whoever did it.
Me: Oh, because they sold alcohol to someone they were 100% sure is 23 years old because they had 100% legally-provided proof right in front of them? I mean, you know that I’m 23, right?
Queen Doucheweiner: That’s not the issue.
Me: Ok, so you know that I’m legal, so what is the issue? Do we need to call the cops, because I’m fine doing that. A police officer can come verify my age, I don’t care. This is out of control.
Queen Doucheweiner: Let me call another manager.
In comes King Doucheweiner.
King Doucheweiner: What’s the problem?
Again, Princess Doucheweiner shows him the license/paper without saying anything that remotely resembled English and/or words.
King Doucheweiner: Did you test her?
The princess did not know how to respond to this.
King Doucheweiner: What’s your birth date?
Me: [Insert correct birth date here.]
King Doucheweiner: What’s your full name?
Me: [Insert correct full name here.]
King Doucheweiner: Okay, she’s good. You see, most people don’t know the full name and birth date if it’s not their ID.
As someone who has had a fake ID, both of myself and another that said I was 5’4″ and weighed just over 100 lbs when I’m actually 5’10” (<– actually 5’11”, oops… I’m glad I’m editing this over 2 weeks later…) and weigh just a bit more than that, I can say that that’s 100% not true. Anyone who has half a brain makes sure to know at least the name and birth date.* What they don’t know, often, is the address, or what zodiac sign they are, or the phone area code of the address on the ID. So basically, if you’re ever looking to use a fake ID, you should probably go to the Albertson’s in Redondo Beach.
[*Ok, so I promise I have more than half a brain, but I kind of messed up on this one once. In my defense, I was using the not-me ID solely at this bar by campus where I could have used a black girl’s ID and they wouldn’t have cared. And I happened to go on ID girl’s birthday, and the bouncer was all “WHAT!? It’s your birthday!?” Nope, it wasn’t. And I told him that. It was some girl Laura’s birthday. But he let me in anyway. But again, this was clearly not a reputable place where I felt the need to study up.]
Anyway, I got the wine. And later on I drank it. And all was fine. But I’m still hoping for a Christmas miracle that my license comes soon so people will start believing that I exist as a real person again.