Grafton, Wisconsin: home of a local blues festival, historical houses and my fabulous roommate, Becca Alt.
This humble village just outside of Milwaukee has your basic necessities—Super Target, Alterra Coffee—and surely many other charming places I have yet to discover, but the best hidden gem I have had the personal pleasure of experiencing what is most certainly the neighborhood bar, The Bridge Inn (called simply The Bridge), where I spent my first official day of spring break.
This may not sound so great to some, but while the rest of you were being x-rayed for bombs and snow globes (TOTALLY FORBIDDEN OBJECTS ON AIRPLANES IF YOU WERE NOT AWARE) before jetting off to Panama City Beach, Becca’s dad, brother and friend were treating me to both original numbers and cover renditions of rock’s finest, from James Brown to Jefferson Airplane.
Yet while these auditory delights graced my eardrums, there remained greater fun to be had. As Becca et al(t) and myself enjoyed bloody marys, complete with beef stick and a pickle spear, we found ourselves wanting more Bloody Marys. Thus is the way of alcohol, I’m told.
So in an attempt to fit in with the local crowd who were happily consuming their beverages of choice, I indulged in a second round with my companions. I also forgot to mention this was 3 p.m. on a Sunday and most of the other 50 or so bar occupants had to work the next morning. Grafton goes hard, what can I say? I’ll skip a play-by-play of my drink consumption, but suffice it to say after a couple of hours, suppressing embarrassing dance moves was no longer an option and the drunchies were kicking in. For a moment the world crumbled around me as I discovered my lack of the granola bar that usually accompanies me most places while simultaneously realizing I didn’t want to leave the show to seek out food. But never fear; that’s why The Bridge is here.
As I made inquiries about snacks, the bartender informed me The Bridge is more of a libation destination than a place to buy a meal, but for some miraculous reason still unbeknownst to me, in the back of the room rested a pot luck open for public consumption. I truly cannot think of another place where this would happen to me. “No we don’t want your money for shitty bar food but please help yourself to homemade delights perfect for the imbibed free of charge.” For the first time of the night I turned to Becca and posited the question, “Is this real life?”
However, my murky state of mind did not allow me to linger on the question very long and I was soon back in my seat, happily munching on tortilla chips and Velveeta-infused queso dip.
Suddenly an arm holding a tray full of shots appeared next to my face and attached to said arm was a woman whose name I never learned, but whose T-shirt I will remember forever. It said “Bacon makes everything better.” T-shirt lady then forced everyone at our table to each take a shot known as “The Beaver Shot” with her and her gaggle of fellow 40-somethings. It turns out The Beaver Shot is composed of SoCo, Amaretto and Red Bull—if Brand New and LMFAO made a drink lovechild, this would be it. Harassment by middle-aged party moms aside and in a somewhat drunker and significantly reinvigorated state, typical bar shenanigans ensued, including but not limited to: laughing at 90 percent of what anyone said to me, some probably really shitty attempts at dancing and being convinced to take another Beaver shot (MY GOD THAT WOMAN WAS PERSUASIVE).
As the night drew to a close my mind was blown one last time as, from what I can remember, Becca and I got a business pitch for the books: TodCo Industries LLC is proud to present the Cum Cloth—for those moments after. “Is this real life?” may have been thrown out there again and this time the answer is most definitely yes, because we’ve both got the business card to prove it.
A man named Todd approached us as two students earning degrees in communications-based fields who could help him introduce this innovative creation into the Madison college market. Being that we obligingly agreed to promote this as best we could, please, Todd, consider this my pitch.
“…a leaf, sock, sheet or tshirt? Never again!” exclaims the home page of the Cum Cloth before boasting attributes of ultra absorbency and “plush” consistency. I can’t even make this shit up.
Though I cannot speak from personal experience on the inconvenience of using random, semi-absorbent cloths to mop up passion-spawned messes (I cannot believe I’m talking about this right now), Leslie Mann’s character does remind us in “Knocked Up” that towels “are never soft ever again” once used for cleanup purposes, so why not designate a trademarked cloth to get the job done?
I’m done with my sales pitch, but don’t forget, the real magic of Grafton happens at The Bridge, and for this kind of unprecedented fun, you don’t even need to worry about the clean up.
Interested in purchasing a Cum Cloth of your very own and taking endless Beaver Shots as well? E-mail Jaime at jbrackeen@wisc.edu and join her on her next trip to The Bridge.
