I discovered last night that it takes exactly 5 shots of Jagermeister to completely neutralize anger - at least if you’re a Polish woman named Bo. So here’s the story, I’m out in Amsterdam with my two hostel roommates (Caroline and Bo), a Canadian named Mitch (eh?), and some other weird dude from Utah (aren’t they all?).
I had just finished the most amazing plate of Penne all’arrabiata served by an extremely cordial Italian named Clauduo. We liked Clauduo because he was funny and, more importantly, because he served us our first round of free shots (6 shots of limoncello - he of course had to pour himself one). So the evening was off to a proper start.
After that, we went to visit an establishment made famous by Brad Pitt, George Clooney, and Matt Damon in Oceans 12. I’d tell you the name of it but I honestly can’t remember, and it’s not important because the night was flowing along swimmingly. However, the bliss and joy was about to be tested.
A little known fact outside the UK: People in England are extremely racist against redheads. And they don’t call them redheads, they call them gingers. This is not a segue. This is a vital piece of information required for the next paragraph.
So there we are all happy and having a great time. At this point in the evening, I owe a couple of beers to different people, so Bo (she’s the Polack) and I head up to the bar leaving the rest behind to find seats. It turns out the bar tender is an Eastern European redhead and she’s exceedingly rude to Bo. And Bo is pissed! I’m not talking irritated or annoyed - she is about as pissed off as anyone I’ve ever seen. Bruce Banner would be envious of her transformation. So anyway, the next thing I know, Bo is screaming, “You ginger $?*%! All I really needed to know about you I could tell from the color of your hair!” Then she stormed out of the bar. Just to be clear, she didn’t actually say “$?*%” - that would be really hard to pronounce. Instead she was using a rather colorful but derogatory term for a certain part of the female anatomy.
We all leave and head to the bar next door. That’s one of the great things about Amsterdam: There’s a bar or coffee shop on just about every single corner. The bartender at the new bar then gets to hear all about the “ginger $?*%” in the bar next door and, seeing that Bo is still irate, he decides to buy us all a shot of Jagermeister. As it turns out, this beautiful brown liquid not only goes well with Red Bull, but is also the perfect elixer for calming the nerves of angry Polish women. Who would have thought?