ßglockner, the highest peak of the Austrian alps. My old friend Susie brought it back to me from a trip to Europe she made in 1996. From this prized souvenir I sipped whiskey and rum. Occasionally, I put it to use when enjoying a boilermaker, but no more. I loved my shot glass. I loved its shape and heft. I loved that it had a gold rim and a little handle. You could say this shot glass inspired me to make my own trip to Austria, where I studied abroad in 1997. I've spent the past week reflecting on the millions of gallons of booze I've ingested, shot by shot, through the years. My shot glass was special. I won't go into the details of how it met its end; for me the pain is too near the surface. Suffice to say it had an unfortunate encounter with my sometimes-careless wife.
My shot glass would have turned 16 this year. Now it's gone. Why do the good have to die so young?
Also, what the hell am I going to do with all this rum?
Sue, if you get this message, I'm going to need you to swing by Austria when you get a sec.