A SHOT OF JAGERMEISTER AND MASS ON SUNDAY

It was Thursday night, and that meant one thing junior year—Zigs for $1 drafts. I was only 20, but I lived next door to four guys, who were all a year older, so we made an agreement—I buy, they fly. It was only a dollar, so I figured it was like paying $3—including a tip. Anyway, we got there around 11:30, and I sent Collin inside with a five spot, while I scoured the front patio for anyone I might know. A few minutes later he came back with the beers, and proceeded toward a small table where two girls were sitting.

It was a golden moment. I didn’t really look at either girl, because it was dark out, and I was a little more concerned with getting my hands on the frosty 32 ounce Coors Light. Collin handed me a beer, but was preoccupied with a guy he ran into on the walk out. He was beginning to sit down, so I sat down, and immediately thereafter, he rose back to a stance, and walked away. There I was, sitting at a table with two girls, who were complete strangers, and I was faced with a decision—get up, without saying a word, and walk away with my tail tucked between my legs, or meet them. I chose the latter, or I should say, Anna chose the latter.

“Hi, I’m Anna,” she said, extending her hand across the table. She was cute. Actually, she was a total bombshell.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Giancarlo…but you can call me G.C. or Gianni, which ever you prefer.”
“Hi, I’m Steph,” her friend said, also extending her hand.
“Hey, how’s it goin’?”

In hindsight I might have been a little rude when meeting Steph, but there was something about Anna I immediately couldn’t shake off.

“So do you always just sit down with strangers?” she asked, putting me on the spot.
“Yeah, I just go from bar to bar until I see a couple of girls like yourselves.”

I wasn’t fazed.

“Good response.”

I was in like Flynn.

“I’ve been known to hold my own.”

She smiled, and held out her beer for cheers.

“So, do you go to OSU?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m a junior. How ‘bout you?”
“I’m a senior. Whuddaya studying?”
“English. You?”
“Special Education.”
“So you like kids.”
“No, they just pay teachers really well.”
I had a wise-ass on my hands, and I loved it.
“So whuddaya want to do with an English degree, teach?”
“Well, I’m not really sure. I was leaning toward being a writer, but I heard they’re paying teachers through the roof these days.”
“You’re good…you know that?”
“I’m good at a lot of things.”
Another smile surfaced. “Oh really? Like what kind of things?”
“First off, get your mind outta the gutter. I’m a good Catholic boy,” I said, lifting my cross necklace off of my chest.
“Do you go to Mass every week?”
“As a matter of fact, I do…haven’t missed a Sunday in years. What about you? Are you Catholic?”
“Irish first, Catholic second,” she said as she lifted her beer and took a swig. I liked this girl more and more with every exchange.

“Do you have any siblings?”
“A younger brother. What about you?”
“I’m the youngest of nine.”
“Wow, you are Catholic!”
“Well, my parents loved each other, and didn’t believe in birth control…you know, one thing leads to another.”

We had chemistry like we had known each other our entire lives, rather than the fifteen minutes it had actually been. She had a sparkle in her eyes, and the cutest button nose I had ever seen. Her wit was quick and on point, and I knew I had to make it go beyond that night. We continued to talk, had a couple more beers, and at one point, she reached across the table, lifted my right hand, and kissed it. Most guys would have run like the wind, but I thought it was the most adorable thing that a girl had ever done to me.

“Let’s do a shot,” she said promptly after we each finished our fourth beer.
“I don’t do shots.”

Nobody loved doing shots more than I did, but that was my problem. One shot was never enough. One shot turned into two, and then three turned into seven or eight, and before I would even know it, I’d be stumbling up Fifteenth Avenue, having completely blown it with her.

“Just one, come on!”
“I’ll make a deal with you.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll do a shot with you, but only if you agree to go to Mass with me on Sunday.”
“Fine. Deal.”
“You have to pinky swear, though. It’s only good if you pinky swear.”

So we interlocked pinkies, and each kissed the spot between our thumb and index fingers. She went inside, and a few minutes later came out with two shots of Jagermeister. I took the shot with her, got her phone number, and we parted ways.

And that’s how I got a date to Mass from a shot of Jagermeister.