Caribou Coffee - Snelling

Caribou Coffee - Snelling

St. Paul, MN

Reviewed June 1st, 2004

Everything about the new Caribou makes you feel like you're up north. A stone fireplace sits in the middle of the joint and varnished wood protrudes from every direction along with expertly placed lighting and tastefully themed artwork. Just as you are about to rest, you start to feel how slick and over designed the place is. Suddenly it becomes clear that this isn't Ma and Paw Kettle's shanty in the woods! Oh, no. Its some yuppie CEO's third home on Lake Minnetonka! Its all a set up and you've been suckered, been played for the fool the corporate marketing social engineers knew you were all along.

So, what do you do? You knock back another gulp of your Turtle Mocha, thinking 'damn thats good.' Then you slam it on the table. You're not a rube! You're sophisticated and you won't sit idley by and let them.. let them... make you relax... and stuff. So how do you stick it to them? Vandalism? No, jail doesn't fit into your schedule. Lawful protest? Oh, hell, why bother tilting at windmills while generating publicity for the man.

But there is one thing you can do. You can get up, walk down to the private bathroom. You can do your business.. and just leave it, just walk away. Nobody will notice. Don't even flush. That will show them! But as you you sit there mulling these acid thoughts and words like anarchy and nihilism pop up in your head, suddenly you pause, distracted. Wow, is that really a framed picture of several outhouses on the wall? And say, isn't that interesting, how the wood border around the mirror has little carvings in it? And, hmmm, a wood cabinet above the crapper? No,no. You will not be swayed. This is all a corporate trick. You're a hater. You won't be played again. Um... hey now, does that wood border actually go around the edge of the baby changing station, making it look like it really belongs?

Ah, damn it. Next thing you know, you're not only flushing, you're wiping up those stray droplets you usually leave behind on the seat. Have you lost your freaking marbles? You would never even dream of touching a toilet seat in a public restroom. But see, now thats the rub. This isn't a public restroom. This is home. That guy banging on the door for you to hurry it up now sounds like a stranger, some idiot who wandered in to your house from the street.

"Get the hell out," you yell. "This is mine, mine. I already paid," you say, as though your mocha was the same thing as property taxes. Hours pass and you barracade the door without a second thought. The SWAT team shows up. They have a warrant. The operations commander is actually a really nice gal. She doesn't seem like an ex-green beret as she cordially informs you that you can come out the easy way or the hard way. Tough call? Not at all. You wait for them to blow the door. A tear gas cannister lands at your feet, smoke fills the air. The last thing you rember before asphyxiating on the gas is being clubbed, hog tied, and several loud voices yelling "clear!"

Was it worth it? Was it? You bet.

- Justin Teerlinck

RESTROOM RATING: 10
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