He did not want the drink I had offered him. I got that. On some level, it made sense. After all, I had been making custom shots from a multitude of ingredients for everyone else, and I simply poured him a long pull of Jågermeister. Was it a bit lazy on my part? Sure. To be fair, he had been talking about doing bombs in college, while waiting in line, just moments before in a way that seemed a fond remembrance. What to do now, as we found ourselves in a bit of a stand off. I did not want to argue, but I was making the shots, so I got to call them. I just locked eyes and waited. After a pause, he opened, “it’s just that, well, in college, umm, well…” then I got it. He’d been poorly treated by this spirit. No wanting to prolong his discomfort, I poured an apple whiskey, topped it with blueberry schnapps and pushed it across the bar to him, before slowly and deliberately picking up that Jåger shot for a silent toast, before slowly drinking it down. As he walked away, I thought, it was a shame that he wasn’t willing to give it a chance. There are lots of things that hurt when done to excess that can be heavenly, in moderation. So, with a nod to the ghosts of college parties past, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the Count Mast.
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