Friday, March 23, 2012

Apparently being from Montana is a liability when dancing

Given the title of this post, you’re probably about to crack some joke about how Montanans can’t dance unless we’re in a barn with hay and a fiddle. You country bumpkins are so quaint, you think, just like all those Lifetime movies with Katherine Heigl before she got famous and did crap like The Ugly Truth. Yes, I’m sure you’re thinking exactly that.

First of all, our country hoe-downs are grand fun. Don’t knock ‘em til you try ‘em. Second of all, we can also do other types of dancing. I’m a big fan of swing, myself. However, I do also love me some uncoordinated, spastic club dancing – great in a place like DC, which has so many clubs.  And gradually over the years, my awkward 80’s moves have morphed into something that can actually resemble some pretty decent club dancing (although I can still whip out the Shopping Cart or the Sprinkler on occasion).  

My point is, I love club dancing. And not in an I’m-still-in-college-and-looking-for-affirmation-on-the-dance-floor kind of way, but in an I’m-an-adult-with-a-job-look-at-me-cut-loose kind of way. Minus the job part, of course.

Unfortunately, I have a handicap.

Everyone here in DC thinks my Montana ID is a fake.

I actually found this pretty funny the first time it happened.  I was out with some co-workers, casually handed off my card to the burly Russian-looking bouncer, and prepared to receive it back with the typical “Gee you’re far from home” comment. Instead he held my card, glared at me with a look that plainly said, “Вы незаконно!and crossed his arms, barring entrance. Luckily, my hiring manager was there and assured him that she would not have hired me had I been underage.  He grudgingly let me pass.

The second time was on Halloween. Also a funny occasion, as I stood by the door watching as Gaddafi after Qaddafi after Khadafi strolled through in their bad wigs and golden robes. This time, the bar manager had to come over to take a look at my ID. “I promise it’s real,” I told him. “I’m sure you hear that all the time, but just check with your little UV pen and you’ll see the holographic bears on it.” Grizzlies, to be precise.  The manager relented this time, too.

But this past St. Patty’s Day, my luck ran out. The bouncer, who I maintain had a chip on his shoulder anyway (something corroborated by my friends…the phrase “douchebag” may have been used), took one look at my ID and said flatly, “You’re not getting in.” And none of my cajoling or explanations made a whit of difference.

Curse you, Montana driver’s license!  

Actually, I wasn’t 100% sure that my rejection was based on my license…after all, it WAS St. Patty’s Day. But I had my managers at the liquor store take a look at my ID the next week, and all of them immediately said something along the lines of Yup, that looks really fake.

Sigh. I really don’t want to be one of those girls who takes her passport to bars. Her passport, of all things. Having lived abroad for a year, a passport is like gold and not something to be dog-eared as your bar companion. Not only that, it’s fairly easy (so I hear) to steal an identity based solely on a passport.

Nope, not for me.

Time for a DC driver’s license?


  1. Sorry Aff. I got that a lot in Colorado in college also.

    Love Pop

  2. What about talking to the Montana Secretary of State and asking them to make their IDs look more official to those who aren't as fortunate to be from there?


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