If I could go back to college with the skills I acquired over my professional career, I would be making quality fake IDs and charging desperate underage drinkers $200 a smash for them (I would also be convincing more women to pose nude for me and explain that it was all for artistic purposes). In the mid to late 90s the internet was not as magical as it is today. You couldn’t just buy a fake ID with your parent’s credit card and have it over-nighted to you in time for weekend tavern revelries. No. Instead you had to pay some asshole stranger that smelled of cigarettes and claimed she was a born again Christian $40 to alter the dates on a good ID with improper fonts and colors and wait two months for it.