Due to the G’s aggressive disregard for my identity and ability to buy Zima Gold at Safeway, I was required to illegally motor to the DMV and acquire a replacement driver’s license. The Virginia version of that much maligned agency has gone under a massive service and public relations restructuring over the past decade and from what I hear it’s a forever less painful then a visit to its cousin across the river in DC. And even though it was nearing the end of the month, the day after a holiday weekend, it was all green lights and blue skies once I walked in the door. They only asked for one form of ID too, even though I brought twelve SSN I got from a hot VA laptop.
The biggest consternation of the day became the outfit I should wear in my new picture as I like them to be somewhat unorthodox. In the lost ID I sported a fancy black turtle and styled my hair so high that it actually disappeared out the frame. My college-era license featured a wondrous Bubble Puppy era Afro. Unfortunately, time and DC uniform restrictions limited much of what I had planned, so I opted for the Clark Kent disguise.
I greased up my hair with an entire travel sample bottle of L.A. Looks MegaHold and gave it a severe left handed part. Donned a conservative shirt/tie combo and broke out the new thick framed glasses. The picture lady may have suspected something was up, but who could argue with such a well-coiffed member of the Robert Strange McNamara School for Well Groomed Boys*. It was a haircut you could set your watch to.
It may be argued that altering your image in your most widely accepted form of identification is a poor idea. But I figure if I leave the Cain Marko prosthetic chin at home I should be alright. It’s subtle and hopefully not too confusing for my local barkeep or constable.
Besides, it’s nowhere near as bad as my old roommate’s license. The guy coaches high school cross country now.
That’s some quality wanted poster fodder.
*my new band's name.