Friday, August 08, 2014

Fucking with the guys that sell Micas

For the uninitiated, when I talk about Micas, I'm talking about fake IDs. If you need further details on Micas, you can check out this LA Times Story, this NPR segment, and this article from a USC student.

Was hanging out with a friend yesterday and during our conversation about a bunch of random stuff, I remembered something my family and I would get a kick outta of, clowning the dudes in Mac Arthur Park that sell Micas. Ohh man, I completely forgot about how we use to do that every time we drove down on Alvarado or on 7th street. I look back on it now and it's funnier now than it was then.

Back in the day, if one was inclined in getting a fake ID, Mac Arthur Park was the place to go. It was always recommended to get someone who knows someone there to hook you up so you don't screwed over. You tell the guys what you need, and in a few hours they'd come back with what you ordered. Money is exchanged and everyone goes home happy. The other thing is that these guys are all over the place hanging out in front of shops or restaurants, shooting the shit.

They'll casually solicit crowds of folks walking down the street in Spanish, "Micas, Micas." Most folks just ignore it cause they know the what's up. The guys are hustling and doing their own thing, if you don't paid them no attention, they won't press you. But if you're looking to get an ID, they'll walk with you and talk details. Best part of all this is you can haggle with them too.

So aside from asking people walking, they would post up at street corners and put out their hand as if they were holding an invisible card or holding up the letter C. That meant that they sold Micas. You could drive up next to them and they would try and slang you a Mica.

Because the guys would be on the look out for cars slowing down, pulling over next to them or flashing back the same hand signal for a Mica, they would run from where they are to the cars window, cause they don't wanna lose a customer. So on occasions in which the family vehicle was filled everyone: Mom, Dad, three younger sisters, and myself, we'd make my dad clown one of these Mica guys.

Before we would get to the park, we'd tell him to clown the guys, so he could get in the right lane ahead of time. We'd all be giggling and holding our laughs so as to not ruin the fun or tip off the Mica guy. The excitement would continue to build as we got closer and closer to the park, until contact was made. My dad would slowly drive up to the curb, we'd see the guy drop everything and start running toward the car. As soon as he was a few steps away from the window, my dad would speed of. Mean while, my sisters and I would be busting up in the back. No matter how many times we did that, it never got old.

To that end, I'b be lying if I said that lil flashback didn't tug at the old heart strings. I miss my sisters and my mom. My other sister and dad, not soo much. Coming from a Mexican family means you're pretty tight with your family in good and bad ways. I stopped living at home seven years ago, and I only see my family once a year cause they live in another state. Either they come for a visit in LA or I go over there. There's a night and day contrast with my family and me and at times it can't be helped. My parents are from the rancho, and while I spent some time there, I'm an Americanized immigrant.

I've missed out on a bunch of stuff over the years that I wish I was there for. Even now that my sisters are having kids and I'm three times an uncle. I've only met my nieces a hand full of times, and because they don't know who I am, they're scarred of me. They won't even let me carry them, but that's the way things are. I can't stand living with them where they are and I would go insane within a month. But I still miss them. Hopefully they won't have to live so far off in the future so I can just drop by more often. We'll see.