My Night with the Shot Girl
The second week of October brought a harsh slap in the face from reality. Previous weekends containing sunny, “shorts and a t-shirt” type weather similar to Memorial Day weekend this year in Belmar were violently replaced with cold, damp, dreary “autumn” weather. As I stared at the thermometer drop below 60° for the first time in months, I was forced to face the facts. The summer of 2002, the wonderful memories that the Jersey Shore brought, was finally over. No more beach house. No more Tempts. No more scantly clad women. The truth I had struggled with for so long had finally set in.
After a brief depression, I pulled myself together. I realized that, although the sun may not be shining as much and the clothes may be a little less revealing, the party must go on. I must search for a refuge, similar to how bears hibernate for the winter, to live out my desires to party like a rock star for the next 7 months. I knew I was not alone in this quest, so my thoughts led me to believe there was a haven for people like myself out there. And then, like the word of God, it dawned upon me.
Hoboken. River Street. It was on.
As I walked through the doors and heard the sweet symphony of DJ Kool’s “Let Me Clear My Throat”, I noticed that, despite the obvious lack of skin being shown, the energy was better than I expected. In fact, as I walked towards the back room, I lost myself in the melodic trance of Perpetual Dreamer’s “The Sound of Goodbye”. As I closed my eyes and felt the bass surround me, I could almost smell the salt water of the Atlantic Ocean.
I approached the bar and ordered myself a Coors Light. Within minutes I had found a cute woman to talk to. Short brown hair, about 5’4”, with some nice curves. She lived in Hoboken, and was out celebrating a friend’s birthday. I bought her a drink and we talked some more. Very nice personality, I must say, and there was definitely some chemistry between us. Just as I was about to ask her what her name was, I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard the words:
“Would you two like to do a shot?”
I turned to see one of the most spectacular sights I had ever seen. Tall. Blonde hair. Easily 36-24-36. A smile that a dentist would be proud of. Carrying a tube tray filled with red, pink, and light green liquids.
“We have Red Devils, Sex on the Beach, and Kamikazes.”
I was mesmerized by her words; it’s as if they were spoken by a saint sent from God. She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen walk the square mile of Hoboken. I felt hypnotized. The only actions I could manage were to reach in my pocket, hand her a $10 bill, and stumble out the words, “T-two kamikazes, p-pl-please.”
As she handed the shots over, I knew I no longer cared about the invalid to my left swigging down three ounces of vodka, triple sec, and limejuice. Not since the weekend of July 4th at Bar A had I felt so alive. Did it matter to me that it was 50° and raining outside? No, I felt like taking my shirt off. I had one mission, one objective, one goal: to take home the shot girl.
As she made her rounds, I played it cool. I walked over to the smaller bar and ordered another drink. I didn’t want her to think I was with the girl I bought the shot from. Damn, what was her name anyway? Oh well, that doesn’t matter. Eventually, the shot girl made her way back to my side of the bar, and I ordered a Red Devil for myself. We started talking. She told me her name was April, and she was a senior pre-law student as Seton Hall. Wow, pre-law, beautiful and smart. What a catch! She’s from Hackensack, and she got this job so she could socialize and make some money on the side.
What really threw me for a loop was, after I bought another Red Devil, she started asking me questions about myself. She wanted to know where I worked, where I lived, if I go to Hoboken often, etc. Imagine that! She was actually interested in me! Somewhere in our conversation I had mentioned my shore house in Belmar, and I received an ecstatic response of, “Oh my God! You have a house in Belmar too???” Turns out, she had rented a house this past summer with a bunch of her friends about 3 blocks from my house. She was always down at Djai’s for Friday Happy Hours and often stayed for the Surf Club on Sunday nights. She was a true weekend warrior.
2 Sex on the Beach shots, 2 Kamikazes, and $20 later, and she had to go restock her tray. I was hesitant to let her go, but I played it cool. Plus, she promised me she’d be back. In my mind, this was the true test of fate. Destiny had led me to this point, and the crossroad placed before me would determine the outcome of the rest of my evening.
I tried to distract myself. I went and found my friends and told them about my catch. How she was intelligent, sophisticated, friendly, and hot as hell. Sure, it bothered me to hear them say such hurtful things as, “Dude, she’s only out for your money!” and “Aww man, come on! No one ever goes home with the shot girl! What makes you think you got a chance?” but I retained my focus. Maybe it was the buzz of cheap well liquor that kept telling me so, but I knew this was my chance. No sooner did I think this did I feel a tap on my shoulder and hear the words:
“Hey Donovan, buy me a Jolly Rancher?”
I turned to find my shot girl April with a smile that should be on billboards and a fully stacked tray of new colored shots. With an equally broad smile on my face, I reached in my pocket and cheerfully handed over a $20. We toasted to the upcoming summer in Belmar, talked some more, did some more shots, and I was in heaven. The misery that the changing of the seasons brought did not matter, for it would always be “April” in my mind.
As the night went on, my memory started to fade as the shots seemed to get stronger and stronger. I don’t remember how many more shots we did or what we talked about, but I do remember the music stopping and the lights going on. I knew my time was now or never. As I gazed into her bright, beautiful blue eyes, my mind became a runaway locomotive. I struggled to find words to say. This was my moment, the pivot point in the plot. As I was about to make my move, she opened her angelic mouth and spoke the words:
“So I’ll see you around then, ok?”
I don’t remember how the rest of the evening went. I vaguely remember grabbing a slice of 7 Star and hoping in a cab. The next thing I remember was waking up in my bed. I had a huge hangover, there was no tall blonde with large breasts in my bed, and $115 was missing from my wallet. Once again, I felt truly alone.
I guess that I learned something out of my night with the shot girl. You see, in the game of life, sometimes we get side tracked on what’s important to us. I don’t think that April is particularly a bad person for distracting me from my original goal. She was merely an obstacle in the road. In the short run, my Friday night in Hoboken would appear to have been a failure. However, in the long run, I accomplished what I set out to do. I found my haven and I partied like a rock star. In spite of the weather, I survived the odds, and the great thing about life is that, for every Friday night in the weekend, there’s always a Saturday and Sunday.
-Jason Donovan