For centuries, many different cultures have developed rituals and trials to make the transition from childhood to adulthood. Though the Rite of Bacchus, otherwise know as "turning twenty-one years old" is probably not recognized as a true rite of passage, it does seem to serve part of the transition to adulthood. At that point, many young people see themselves as new adults. What else they learn from it is a true mystery, except how to hold liquor perhaps. Anyway, I’ll you about my friend's night in the Wisconsin wilderness.
I got the privilege of initiating my friend Jenny to adulthood in 1995. You see, we had been plotting part of her journey since we were 19. One fine underage night, we were cruising in downtown Boyceville, home of Cucumber Days, one telephone booth, and dive bars. As we drove down the "main drag", we saw the sign for Fernie's Funhouse. We decided we had to check it out once we were both of legal drinking age. A couple years later, Fernie's became the first stop on Jenny's initiation to adulthood.
It was a cold, January night when we arrived on Fernie's doorstep. AC/DC blared from the jukebox, and the heavy door loomed in front of us. Cautiously, I opened the door. Next thing I knew, we were sucked into a brawl. Two rednecks scuffled, pulling at each other's shirts and punching each other. The whirlwind of arms and cussing and beer stench almost crushed us. We pulled away from the fight, slammed the door, and ran to the car. We sped back to Menomonie.
After that debacle, we went to the Silver Dollar Saloon in Menomonie. We thought it couldn't be as bad as Fernie's. There, we ordered a couple bus drivers (drinks made to have red, yellow, and green layers of alcohol). All was right in the world until a man with an oversized hand approached us. His left hand was as large as a baseball glove, and it was bright pink. Despite the hand, he looked like a normal frat boy. We couldn't take our eyes off his humongous hand as we politely listened to his life story. He talked a mile a minute about living on a farm, school, and football. When he decided it was time to start really hitting on us, we excused ourselves to get to the next destination.
Off Broadway was and might still be divided into two parts: the main bar and Mr. Heavy's. Mr. Heavy's was the "alternative" crowd's bar, and since we were alterna-chicks, we thought we might feel more at home there than at the other college bars in town. We ordered a couple Leinie's as we observed the black-lit room and punk patrons.
Nine Inch Nails was playing on the jukebox, and Jenny started doing Trent Reznor imitations. We chose to relax at a table in the back of the bar room. Soon after our second beers, we danced near our table and laughed about our inside jokes. Then, four frat guys came up to us. They told us about their favorite holiday, St. Patrick's Day. They showed us the shamrocks on their baseball caps, and staggered back and forth to keep their balance. One of the guys slurred, "Are you into bondage?" He took a pair of handcuffs out of his jacket pocket and twirled them above his head. Jenny and I looked at each other and replied with one of our inside jokes, "We are into bathtub ramen orgies." We laughed at our joke and the frat boys' confusion. "We like chicken ramen the best." After taunting the guys about handcuffs and having a fairly decent discussion about Guinness, Jenny and I called it a night. We left the smoke and black light of Mr. Heavy's for fresh winter air and warm beds.