Where intelligence gives way to madness.
Every kid grew up with an irrational idea of something that would be the coolest profession of all time. It did not always exist within the realm of the actual world, but was instead lifted from the plot of a movie. I was no different. Sure, I wanted to hit the World Series winning home run, but there was also something else that grabbed me and would not let go. Like any person with a solid head on their shoulders would agree, I saw Will Smith running around with Tommy Lee Jones saving the world from the scum of the universe and knew exactly what my ideal fictional future would look like.
Yep. Sign me up.
That was until recently. Recently, I discovered exactly what losing your identity truly costs you. Allow me to preface the following by correcting any preconceived notions that I am by any means perfect. Quite on the contrary actually, because I can in fact be quite the sensational dumbass. Now that we have established that, I can tell you that a few Fridays ago, I got out of a cab and my wallet decided not to come with me. Much like the climatic ending to Free Willy, my wallet was ready to return to the wild.
You can do it, boy. You can be free. I believe in you, Wallet.
Once the initial feeling of sheer panic had waned and I had said “fuck” the appropriate amount of times to cope with my current predicament, it was time to start picking up the pieces of my broken life. I called the cab company to no avail, then cancelled my debit and credit cards and filed the police report to ensure identity theft was easier to prove if something happened. I am not sure who would have ever looked at the picture on that old license of that 21 year old scrub and think to themselves, “I want to be that guy” but hey, I was being safe.
It is at this point that during the entirety of that week I came as close as I will ever get to achieving my dream of being Will Smith’s partner as a member of the Men in Black. I was stripped of my identity and given the opportunity to experience what life in the agency would be like. This was my big chance. It was like I was dropped into a reality show in which I got to experience a dream that is otherwise unattainable. And with the way some of those shows are going these days, I probably had a viewing audience of similar size.
I am calling your bluff CBS. No one has watched this in a decade.
Now, when I say that I completely lost my identity, I mean everything was gone. Debit card, credit card, license, insurance card, blood donor’s card, and even my L card. I was left with absolutely nothing because just days before I had applied for my first passport, so I had neither that, nor did I have a birth certificate at my disposal, as that was locked up in the process of getting my passport. It was a perfect storm of things that could happen, but hey this was my chance to experience the life of an agent, so I was trying to stay positive.
What I had been brainwashed into thinking this would be like was that I would be nothing but a rumor, and only recognizable as déjà vu. This was awesome when they did it as they always got sweet jobs to run off to. Will Smith got to run around spitting game and making first impressions on the same women for the first time over and over again, while Tommy Lee Jones was blasting Elvis, being reckless behind the wheel, and giving traffic the middle finger.
Really not much different than driving with your grandfather.
My job? Oh, I got to run around looking for ways to access any cash in my bank accounts, as I did not have a debit card or a driver’s license for them to cross reference when I tried to cash a check. Marty McFly was taken into a family’s house, played guitar at the school dance, and was accepted because he had a name written on his underwear waistband, but I had to stalk someone to make a check out to so that they could cash it for me. At least after that I was able to get a temporary L card to get to my next missions. Little victories.
Another of my missions was to hang out in the DMV and explain why it was that I had no legal proof of who I was. If these experiences truly were my initiation into what would become my eventual acceptance into the Men in Black, the black suit I was being groomed to wear was the one worn by the guy who ran to the dry cleaner to get everyone else’s freshly pressed suits.
I don’t want to play this game anymore.
If I am being honest, it was for the best that I went through the reality check of what life would truly be if I got my childhood wish. After all of the struggles of life without an identity that I had to face, I figured it was about time to let go of old dreams and get on board with more realistic future endeavors. Clearly, being in the Men in Black is not a viable option for my future and it was important I learned that. Now I can buckle down and focus on more practical and real world next career moves.
On call 24 hours a day to serve all your supernatural elimination needs.
Though I must say, even after all of that, I can take solace in the fact that there is a positive that I will always carry with me for the remainder of my life from my time doing my best to imitate the MIB agency. I still look way better in a black suit than some assholes who try to pull the look off.
Deal with it, Pitbull.
So at least there is that. Dale.