As almost an adult, even the word Jägermeister gives me chills. As 20-somethings, we lived on the stuff; drank it like water.
On one long strange trip to the desert, we had a serious crew with us. I’m talking rolling close to 20 deep of hard-gambling and even harder-partying guys. One morning, after we shake out the cobwebs of a very long night, we head down to the blackjack pits at The Rio. We all sit in one pit, but at multiple tables. So there are about 15 of us scattered around at four or five different tables. And what else do you do at 11 AM in Vegas? We’ll take our blackjack with a side a Jäger-bombs, please. I order the first round, pointing out my friends all over the casino to this poor cocktail waitress; God bless her. “We’ll take two here, three to them next door, two to that table over there, and see that ugly guy over there? yeah, get him one too.” As she is delivering the shots, one of my other buddies puts in the same order. Again, directing her to give Jäger-bombs to every one of our friends. This process goes on for six or seven rounds of shots. On every drink drop, someone else gives her the same order. Finally, on our last round of drinks, she says to me, “You guys know these shots are like $15 a piece at the bar, right?” And in a way only a snarky 24 year old can respond, I tell her, “I don’t care how much they are in there, they’re free here.”
As you can imagine, we didn’t win much money in this round of cards. We head upstairs to the suites for an early afternoon nap and to freshen up for another long Vegas night. While I’m in the shower, a bunch of my drunk heathen friends proceed to eat and drink absolutely everything out of the mini-bar in my room.
A very expensive ending to a very expensive morning…