I was 17 when I started college in Florida; just months away from being able to legally enter, but not drink at, a club or a bar. Because I had been living in Shanghai the last four years, I didn’t have a driver’s license – only a passport, and my American diplomat card. I got away with acting like a dumb freshman girl who “forgot” my ID a few times, but when my friends and I attempted to go out dancing one night, my ego was completely shot. “Where’s your ID,” the bouncer demanded. “Well, I have this,” I took out my diplomat ID. “My birthday’s right here.” He looked at it puzzled, squinting at the Chinese characters. “What is this? Don’t you have a driver’s license?” Um, no sir, that requires the ability to drive. “My birthday’s right there,” I pointed, hoping maybe he’d just let me in. “No, I can’t take this, I can’t even read this.” He threw it back and me and took the next person in line. I was furious. …