Alex and I accidentally did a bunch of culturally impressive things a few weeks ago. We visited some local museums, strolled about all the hip areas of the city, and finally grabbed some food at a fancy little restaurant. I have absolutely no idea how this happened, but for some reason Alex caught sight of my fingertips.
“What the hell is wrong with your fingerprints?”
It was like a throwback to his reaction to my super flexible fingers. I shrugged. I had no clue what he was talking about.
“They aren’t supposed to have lines like that,” he said.
I looked a little closer.
I’d never really bothered to look at them, but now it made sense. This is why my fingerprints always fail to work when scanning at the DMV, customs, the gym, or my iPhone. Because I don’t have any. Or at least you can’t see them through vertical and horizontal wrinkly trenches of WTF.
So obviously the first thing I did was Google it. I was hoping to discover that dicey fingerprints were an indication I wasn’t from this planet and could finally shirk off the horrors of my childhood. Sadly, this was not the case and like all ailments and symptoms, it simply meant that I likely have some sort of debilitating disease. Beyond that, there was really nothing else on the topic. Which is fine, because I’d moved on to the next most obvious thought: I am totally going to become a criminal.
After all, why would someone with such an affinity for ending up in precarious situations, and a history of making morally questionable choices suddenly have non-fingerprints? Me thinks this is like a green light from the Universe to go ahead and start committing crimes. So I made a list:
Crimes I’m Planning to Commit
1. Print hundreds of copies of my version of my ex’s naked photo where he’s holding a Samurai sword and paper the town with them.
2. Install hidden cameras all over my absurd workplace so I can become a YouTube sensation.
3. Throw heavy things at anyone who’s rude to people who work in retail.
4. Steal a bunch of red pandas from the zoo and keep them in my bedroom so I can cuddle with them.
5. Walk one block over to my bosses house and take a huge dump on the hood of his brand new BMW.
I think that between my frighteningly bendy fingers and my non-fingerprints, I could have a fantastic future as a criminal.
Do you have any weird body characteristics? Have you ever gotten a sign from the Universe? What would YOU do if you thought you’d get away with it?
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