I had to get my fingerprints taken. It wasn’t my first time, but it was the first time where I had to fill in my own information on the fingerprint card. Name, address, social security number, sex… fine. Date of birth, mother’s maiden name, weight… getting a little personal, but fine.

Then – Eye color, hair color, race… is this a lonely hearts application?

Okay, I guess this would have been better if the fingerprint tech was a young strapping handsome man with a deep voice (possibly accent) and a slight smile when looking at me. Each attribute would be read followed by a dramatic pause to look at me, then discussed as an endearing quality. I would then coyly accept any flattering compliments. Later he would be haunted by my imminently kissable visage, and not be satisfied until he saw me again.

In reality, I sat in a hard plastic chair while a weathered old man barked… Brown, BRN; Black, BLK; Oriental, O. My eyes are tenebrous and boundless, my hair is a very dark brown, and in my opinion we have progressed in this country I and though I can’t be (P)acific Islander, I could at least be (A)sian. Even the US government has recognized that race is an “all that apply” option on some documents, but I guess when faced with a 1cm box, you’re limited in how you can express yourself.