Can you keep a secret? It's kind of embarrassing now, but I am compelled to catharsis by a nagging from a corner of my mind. So here I lay it all down.

I sabotaged my own caf card so that they would be forced to issue me another one for free. I got it into my head that if only I could make the bar code unscannable, the card check ladies would finally give up and point me in the direction of the office. So I picked at it. I peeled the plastic. I "accidentally" dropped it into snowbanks.

Finally, a couple weeks ago, my efforts began to pay off, and after a preliminary but failed attempt to re-laminate, I received a shiny new plastic rectangle with a "1" where there once was a "0".

You have to promise not to tell Bon Appetit about the way I've behaved.

You also may be wondering what might have driven me to such desperate lengths. Anyone who has seen my original ID card (and laughed and laughed) can vouch for me when I claim there was just cause. During the spring of my senior year in high school I had a platinum blonde boy-cut. It worked then. Four months passed without seeing any maintenance, however, and on the day that I found myself standing in a long line outside the old caf, the thrill was decidedly gone (or more specifically, had grown out about three inches). Additionally, I was sunburned, scowling, and one of my eyes was significantly more closed than the other.

These details are meant as visual aid, rather than as testament to my vanity. If it were otherwise, I would have destroyed my caf card two years ago and you would not have the pleasure of reading this particular column. No, this decision stemmed from a deeper concern for the preservation of my identity. This year I began to realize that when I would check things out of my dorm's front desk, the worker wouldn't know which card to give back to me. Some people tell me I never actually looked like that, but it still begs the question: how on earth was a picture like that ever possibly taken??

If this fiasco has taught me nothing else, it has demonstrated the importance of agreement between one's self image and the image put forth for the rest of the world to see. By carrying around the ugly, outdated image of myself, I think I may have been convinced that this still was an accurate representation of what everyone else saw.

Irrationally, my development arrested in the form of my college ID.

These are the steps that have led me to the execution of Operation Barcode. In all honesty, I have found profound relief. A ratty, inexplicable chapter of my past has ended.

From now on you'll see a Katie who knows herself better. I'm ready to look toward an unfettered, shiny happy future.

Just please don't tell on me!