The Beer, The Bouncer, The Blackout


The time was around Christmas and the place was Fulham Broadway. I was trying to enter a club with an ID of someone else.  They looked nothing like me, but my trusty ID hadn't failed me yet so I was confident as always. I strutted up to the back of the line with an overambitious amount of confidence and £30 to my name. I was even hoping that with me not shaving for almost 2 weeks straight and my horrendously patchy half grown man-child moustache I would have some potential of not being IDed at all.  

However, as I approached the bouncer he demanded an ID before I was even able to mutter a word. I produced the ID and tried to adjust my hair to the 2007 esque Justin Bieber style which was in the photo. After a solid 30 seconds of him analysing the photo and clearly struggling with the arithmetic of calculating whether or not the birthdate did make me 18, he ushered me through to the second stage of the interrogation. However, before I could enter the holy land of £2 Jaeger-bombs and Mr Traumatik I was asked for a second piece of identification in which proved that I in fact was who I said I was. 

Thinking I was being moderately sly I produced the words "I only ever bring my ID and cash on a night out so I don't spend too much" -  not fully realising my entire wallet was in my hand at the time.  He snatched it straight out of my hand  and I was utterly shocked to see him ruffle through my wallet and produce both my bank card and my provisional driving license which each had my real name on it. He asked me 'so bruv which one's the real you then?'. Reverting back to my terrified self, feeling like I was 12 again, I calculated it was probably more beneficial that I had my bank card and real license.  I responded saying that actually the other ones were me. Both he and I knew that he had seen this all before but he was just as tired and annoyed at the situation as me. 'So then whose ID is this?'   

I panicked.  I looked over at my mate Finn and pointed, stating that it was his.  I very quickly realised this was a huge mistake as he had his own ID with a completely different name. Knowing that I had just dug myself into a huge hole he called me out on my bluff and was about to tell me to kindly fuck right off and lose the fake ID.  In a last desperate play I broke down into very convincing fake tears stating that early that day my girlfriend (who clearly didn't exist, lets make that clear) had just broken up with me, that this was my first time in London ever (another lie) and I just wanted to experience a club. He asked whose it really was and I responded that it was my cousin's who lives in Andover (which is once again complete bollocks) and that he had lent it to me. With Finn still desperately trying to convince the bouncer himself that his brother's passport was in fact his, being bombarded with questions such as 'what year did you go to Egypt then eyy?' blurting out the lucky guess of 2014 he swiftly grabbed it back off him. 

I don't know if at this moment an angel blessed me  but miraculously he handed me back the ID and I was almost prepared to kiss him. Both Finn and I walked off simultaneously smug and terrified, knowing God had just given us a second chance. Be thankful the next time you get served a pint.

Yours lovingly,

Jamie