The real Barrett Chase’s recent story made me think of a similar incident in my past. In high school I had more friends than enemies, but it was still a time of high drama. Being the young loudmouth that I was (am?) I frequently found myself facing off with my detractors. I could handle the ones who were up front about their grievances or opinions. To those who’d nicknamed me Qadaffi’s daughter (they’d gotten Lebanon, home of my forebears, confused with Libya) I’d either suggest they look at a map, or shake my head and laugh off their ignorance. That I could deal with. It was the sneaky, snaky, smear campaigns and catty attacks that caused me the most trouble. Thus it was that I went home one evening to find my mother glaring daggers at me, which wasn’t particularly odd, but then she asked me to explain myself. I looked at her blankly, racking my brains to determine what infraction of mine she may have become aware of. She interrupted my contemplation to cut to the chase. The local video store had called, requesting the return of an overdue movie. A movie of a salacious nature…that had been checked out by, you guessed it, someone using my name. I don’t know if my mother believed my protestations of innocence, but to resolve the matter she dragged me down to the video store in question. The owner took one look at me and realized we’d all been had (I guess carding wasn’t common practice at that point in time). My suspicions regarding the offender’s true identity were never confirmed, but I’m 99% certain I know who it was. Some time later that same video store owner was in hot water…for allegedly creating peepholes with a view of the tanning bed changing rooms. Perhaps he’d seen more of my impersonator than she bargained for. Mutant pale though I am, this makes me quite glad I’ve never set foot (or ass, or teakettle) in a tanning bed.
