My partner, J.E., and I were standing outside the club one night when a group of guys walked up. We began checking their IDs, and one by one, they paid their cover; we patted them down, and they entered the club. The last guy, a particularly young lookinStages of Griefg one, handed J.E. his ID. J.E. studied the card in his hand for a moment, then rather than handing it back and taking the kid’s entry fee, he slipped the card into a jacket pocket. This routine was one I’d seen play out countless times before; it meant the ID was fake. The kid’s reaction was likewise routine. It suddenly struck me why it was so familiar.
According to the Kübler-Ross model, grief plays out over five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally, acceptance. Now, this model was created to explain how people process the death of a loved one, but death isn’t the only loss that causes people to grieve. Sometimes loss can look like a small child losing a balloon or a slightly larger child having their fake ID confiscated by a bouncer. Kübler-Ross still applies; the process is just a whole lot faster. I’ve witnessed all five of these stages play out in under a minute.
Stage One: Denial
The sight of his ID disappearing into the pocket of a bouncer was enough to make the kid squirm a bit. He did his best to gather himself, but his voice squeaked as he spoke. "Umm, can I have my ID back?"
J.E. glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, and we shared a smirk before he turned back to the kid. "You mean your fake ID? No. No, you can’t have your fake ID back. Have a good night." Poor kid was too clouded by grief to realize that the fun night he had anticipated had just come to an end. But, bless his little heart, he was still trying to salvage it. "What do you mean?" he asked. "That’s not fake."
When you see enough ID cards over time, you know what to look for. Patterns begin to emerge, and you start recognizing clear signs that an ID isn’t real. Of course, it was a fake. We wouldn’t have taken it if we weren’t certain of that. The kid was clearly in denial. "Yeah, it’s fake," he responded, laughing, "you’re not getting this back."
Stage Two: Anger
The kid was pissed. "That’s fucked up, man! That’s my ID! You can’t just take it from me like that!" J.E. shrugged. "Hey, I guess I could be wrong, but I know I’m not. If you want to tell me I am, I’d be more than happy to have a cop run it for me. If he tells us it’s legit, I’ll give it back. Hell, I’ll even throw in free cover tonight."
Offering to run the ID had called the kid’s bluff, and offering free cover had upped the ante. Occasionally, a kid with a fake will think we’re meeting their bluff with another bluff and will tell us to run it. Once, J.E. was indeed wrong, and true to his word, the guy got in free. Nearly every other time, we’ve had the satisfaction of seeing the cop smile, hand the fake back to us, and tell the kid to have a nice night. This kid was smarter than that, though. He knew we had him dead to rights.
Stage Three: Bargaining
"Ok, you got me," the kid said. "Can I get it back? I won’t come back here, swear to god." J.E. and I shared a good chuckle. What these kids always fail to understand is that the fakes we take are like bouncer trophies. They tried to get one over on us, and by god, we got the last laugh. The cards in the ever-growing stack of fakes we collect serve as reminders of times we did our job and did it well. You never forget the thrill of catching your first fake. We enjoy the sport of it but catch and release just isn’t our style.
"No, I’m not giving you your fake ID back. Have a nice night."
"Okay, what if I give you twenty bucks?"
"Twenty bucks? What, mommy didn’t give you your allowance this week?"
"Fifty?"
"No."
"A hundred. Best I can do."
He was just trying to get back his Crackerjack prize. Occasionally, the more brazen of these kids try to offer money to let them in, even though we know they’re underage—this was way less annoying. Either way, nobody ever tries to bribe us with enough money to cover the fines we could face for doing what they’re trying to bribe us to do. It’s just as well. It’s cheaper to just buy a new fake...by a long shot.
J.E. chuckled. "Tell your fake ID guy he owes you a freebie ’cause this one he sold you is a piece of shit."
"And spring for the deluxe model next time," I chimed in, grinning.
Stage Four: Depression
You could smell the disappointment emanating from the kid. His friends had already disappeared inside, and while his night had just ended, their night, which in his mind was sure to be epic as hell, had just begun. The FOMO was strong with this one.
"Look, it’s my friend’s bachelor party, and I’m the best man. I need that ID back, or it’s going to ruin everyone’s night."
"You sure about that?" J.E. asked. "All your friends are already in there having fun. The only night I see getting ruined is yours."
The kid turned around, finally realizing for the first time that his friends had long since abandoned him. His head slumped, and his shoulders sagged. He looked defeated. I almost felt sorry for the kid.
Almost.
"Other people are trying to get in," I told him, "I need you to step out."
Stage Five: Acceptance
In an apparent act of mercy, the groom stepped out the door to check on his best man. "Hey bro, what’s the hold-up?" he asked.
"They took my ID," the kid muttered from outside the cattle guard perimeter of our patio.
"Aw, that sucks, sorry man," answered the groom. "Go chill at the hotel, and we’ll catch up with you in a little while. We’re gonna stay here and see some titties."
"Fuck. Alright," said the kid. "Have fun. See you guys later."
"Okay. See you soon. Hit me up if you need anything."
The groom and his best man bro hugged. The kid began his lonely walk of shame as the groom turned and walked back into the club, exclaiming as he passed through the door, "TITTIES!!!"
If you’re reading this and you’re going out to clubs and bars with a fake ID, this part is for you. Fuck around and find out, McLovin. It might work for you for a while. But if you hand that fake to me, I’ll be adding it to my collection—if another bouncer doesn’t snag it first. When that happens, you may as well just jump ahead to acceptance.
Nate Hazen is a professional fake ID collector, mustache ride operator, aspiring screenwriter, and connoisseur of fine cartoons and chemical substances. You can catch him doing the bouncer thing and keeping vampire hours four nights a week in downtown Portland at X Exotic Lounge, but you’ll have to figure out for yourself which four nights they are.
