The Perfect Crime

When I was 21 and Melissa was 17, we committed the perfect crime.

I had been country dancing for a few years at that point, and Melissa really wanted to start going too. My mother had been helping me get into the dance clubs up until I turned 21, since bouncers rarely asked for your ID when you walked in with a 60 year old woman. But now I was legitimate, and I really wanted Melissa to join in the fun.

I thought I'd be able to get her into the club I frequented most often. The bouncers there knew me, and never asked for my ID. So we would sit in the parking lot, and I'd give her my license. I'd go in first, and get in. She would wait 15-20 minutes, and then come in. She was always able to get in, and I don't think they ever even carded her. This method worked for a good month. But then we got cocky.

One night we decided to forgo the wait time, and walk in together. She had my ID in her wallet, but we were so sure of ourselves we knew she didn't even need it. That night, the owner of the bar happened to be at the door, an older gentleman, not one of the young impressionable bouncers. He knew me enough to know my name, and he said hello as I walked in. And then it happened. He asked her for her ID. So she pulled out my ID, and handed it to him. Now, remember, I was standing right there. He looked at the ID, then he looked at me, and then back to her. He said to Melissa with a chuckle, "Um, this is her!", while he pointed at me. I immediately got huffy with him, as if he'd just offended me to my very core by suggesting such a thing, "No it's not!" And I grabbed the ID out of his hand, and grabbed Melissa's arm and stormed out of the building.

As we walked back to the car, we realized we'd let our cockiness get the best of us. We knew we needed a new plan....

The inspiration for our crime came when I happened to lose my drivers license. This was back in the stone ages before there were bar codes on licenses. When you lost your license, you called the DOT, and they sent you what they called a "picture card". Now, the picture card didn't have a picture on it. It just had the information found on your driver's license; social security number, date of birth, etc. You would then take that picture card to a photo center, present the card, and they'd take your picture and give you a replacement license. They would ask for a second form of ID, but it didn't have to have a picture on it. It could be a credit card, library card, utility bill, whatever.

Well, I went through this process to get a new license. Some time later, I was telling Melissa about it for some reason. As I was talking about it, an idea started worming it's way around the perimeter of my brain... Why couldn't I pretend to lose my license again, and call to get another picture card? At that point, Melissa takes my picture card into the photo center, and gets a real license that has my information on it, but her picture. As I voiced my little half-hearted suggestions, Melissa perked up. She realized instantly that it was the start of a fantastic plan.

We thought through all of the possible scenarios. We knew she was only going to use the ID to get into the clubs, so a police officer would never see it. She had her own driver's license for that. If for some reason I was ever stopped, and a police officer could tell somehow that I had ordered a new picture card, I would just say I found my old license and tore up the new picture card. Remember, that was back in the day before the bar codes, when they could keep track of the duplicate licenses. We knew we weren't going to use it for anything "bad". She didn't want to get into clubs to drink, she just wanted to dance. Is that so wrong??

We thought this plan out like army generals before an attack. We had our contingency plans, our emergency exits, our panic signals. After examining all the possible angles, we decided it was going to work. I called and ordered a new picture card. When it came, which took a couple weeks, we had another plan of attack meeting. In this meeting, we went through what was going to happen at the photo center. Melissa started putting her script together, and practiced her delivery and facial expressions on me. We discussed how she should pose her face for the photo, so that if in some bizarre turn of events things went horribly wrong, the photo could pass for me. She made sure she knew my birthday and social security number, in case the photographer asked her to verify it.

Once she was thoroughly prepped, we went to the photo center. I, of course, was going to remain in the car. After a last minute review, she went into the building. While I waited, my heart was beating out of my chest. I had visions of SWAT teams suddenly surrounding the car, with helicopters flying overhead...I had visions of Melissa being led out of the building in handcuffs, and I thought about what I would do if that happened. When people use the term "flop sweat", my brain immediately goes to those 10 minutes.

After 10 minutes, Melissa came out. She calmly got into the car, and handed me the license.

There it was. A thing of beauty. A real driver's license. With my information. And her face staring back at me. I looked up at her. We stared at each other for a long moment, a look of amazement on both of our faces. Then, at the same time, we both shouted "WE DID IT!!!!!!!!".

Melissa got a lot of mileage out of that REAL fake ID. We would still have it today, except for cockiness rearing it's head again. She started frequenting a club, enough so that the bouncers recognized her. Usually bouncers aren't the sharpest tools in the shed, but one night one of them picked up that all of her friends called her "Melissa", but her license said her name was Suzanne. She valiantly tried to convince him that it was a nickname, but unfortunately this was the one club in town that had a bouncer with an IQ higher than his bicep measurement. He confiscated the ID.

Fortunately, it was just a few months before her 21st birthday.

I'd love to know if other people had worked that scam before. Of course we like to think we were the only ones in the world who thought of it.

Melissa and I would have made excellent CIA agents. We would have been the perfect team. She would have been the front man, doing the face-to-face work, and I would have been the behind the scenes guy. She would have been the one to go into the mansion and party with the international diplomats, charming the Russian leader long enough to pick the key out of his pocket. I would have been in the air ducts of the mansion waiting for the key, which I would then take to the locked computer lab. I'd do my ninja moves to get through the laser beam security system, and then hack into the computer to get the secret files. Meanwhile, Melissa would have seduced the Chinese leader in one of the downstairs bathrooms, while slipping a roofie into his drink. He'd fall asleep, she'd open the air vent, and crawl into the ducts to make our escape.

She's better with people, I'm better with inanimate objects. She can effectively lie her way into or out of any situation, but probably couldn't bring herself to kill someone. I wouldn't have the patience to talk my way out of something, but I could have sliced some throats. I would have been the "Just get me in, and I'll get the job done" one, and she'd have been the "I'll figure out how to get you in, and I'll figure out how to get you out...just follow me!" one.

The perfect team.

The perfect crime.




(There is a statue of limitations on this sort of thing, right???)