The Days Before ID

when it was finally my turn to take my junior year school photo, the school administration told me i'd need to remove the red bandanna from around my neck because it was "gang-related."

it wasn't. i was dressed as a cowboy and it was a part of my getup.

i suppose it could've been gang-related in an old western sort of way, but i certainly wasn't declaring myself a blood while wearing spurred boots and a ten-gallon stetson.

besides, i had a sheriff star. i was just a seventeen year-old wearing a costume and having fun.

i removed the red thing nonetheless and readied myself for my yearbook picture.

"no hats allowed," the photographer said.

well, god dammit. i removed the hat, too.

"sayyyy mama!" the photographer said.

i didn't say mama, but i smiled a braces-filled smile.

the whole thing was not well thought out because i had failed to realize the picture would only show my upper torso and head, which had been stripped of anything remotely cowboy. the chaps, the boots with their authentic spurs and my big ol' belt buckle were all hidden out of frame.

all that was left was my brown leather vest and snappy off-white cowboy shirt.

i ended up looking much more like a late 70's homosexual back up dancer.

fail.

but the next year was actually worse.

i showed up to school the first day, ready and anxious, in my red dishwasher gloves, orange jumpsuit, red cape, and-- of course-- my traffic cone mask.

cone on the head man! duh nuhnunhunhunhunhunuh!

peers actually let me cut in line that year, probably curious to see exactly how all of this was going to go down between me and the photographer.

"you need to remove the traffic cone," the photographer said.

"why?"

"it obstructs the view of your face," he said.

"that's the point," i said, "it's a mask."

"you need to remove it for the purposes of the yearbook," he said sternly.

"i thought about that," i explained, "and because i'm a senior, i realized the photo that goes into the yearbook is not this photo-- it's my senior portrait with the tuxedo and all. this one will just be used for my school id, so just let me have some fun."

there was a pause.

"sayyyy mama!" he said before taking the shot of me as cone on the head man in full gear.

and for a moment, i thought i had beaten the system. i received my school id with my traffic-coned face and bright orange costume and it made me feel so very accomplished.

till the day i had to go to the bank and cash a check.

if you don't already know, it may be a good time for me to mention that i didn't get a california state id until i was twenty-three (2008.) and that meant any time i needed to prove who i was i'd do it with a mixture of back up cards. sometimes it was a burger king kids club card or a library card, but in cases of places like banks it was most commonly my school id and a social security card.

you have no idea what embarrassing is until you find yourself in a bank trying to cash a $10 check from your grandma with only a school id. a school id in which you are wearing a traffic cone over your face.

"do you have an actual id?" the teller asked.

"no," i said, "just my school id."

"this... doesn't even show your face. we need a government issued identification card that will allow us to... indentify you."

"yes," i said, "in hindsight, i recognize it was a pretty stupid move posing for this picture wearing a mask but all i have is this id."

"that's not a mask. it's a traffic cone," she said as she squinted her eyes at me.

"look, say what you will about my mask, but can i cash this check?"

"do you have any other id? even a different school id?"

"oh! good point," i said, "i have my junior year id here."

i handed the teller my second id and watched her eyebrows twist. she spent a good forty seconds just absorbing the awkward image of me in my failed cowboy costume before looking back at me.

in those days i had a school-boy crush on the teller. her name was georgia, she was slightly nordic-voiced, and just so elegantly sexy behind that counter that i couldn't help but imagine her and me in a bank porno.

but if there had ever been a chance of my eighteen year-old self hooking up with ms. georgia in the bank vault, it had been ruined entirely by my two high school identification cards and $10 grandma check.

"you should really get a california id," she said

"i know," i said, having heard this many times before, "i will."

"and don't wear any costumes to the dmv."

"thanks. i won't."