Awesome People: The toad woman of Caribou

Self-importance is a wonderful thing. Ever since we were kids, we’ve been inundated with feel-good mantras like “Everyone is special,” “We’re all winners” and the ever popular “Stop struggling, Alex. Even though your brother is clearly the one who grabbed you and put a knife to your throat.”

Ahem.

But of course there are problems with all this praise. Tons of articles debate the effect constant praise and positive reinforcement has on children. Declined interest, lowered ambition to share ideas with others, dependent thought habits— the list goes on and on. Psychologists dish out id, ego and superego attacks and parents who always know what’s best for their children fire back with, well, just that. It’s a vicious argument and one that’s actually pretty interesting to investigate whether you have kids of your own or not.

But no matter how staunchly you believe that too much praise can hurt or enhance a child’s psychological wellbeing, there will always be people in this world who immediately make you question your stance. These individuals fall into two categories—

1.    The person in question desperately needed more hugs and “good jobs” when they were a child, the lack of which has transformed them into a bitter, crotchety shell of a human being.

Or-

2.    The person in question was flooded with hugs and praise and star dust and ponies and nougat and rainbows and delicious caramels and Care Bear souls when they were a child, the overabundance of which has transformed them into a creature that is more likely to see an image of Jesus Christ when they look in a mirror than their actual self.

This is a tale of the latter.

During the Christmas season, Caribou Coffee sells special holiday drinks. One of these is the Ho Ho Mint Mocha. In addition to feeling completely ridiculous when you order it, a problem I tried to remedy by pretending I didn’t really know what it was called (“I’ll have the…um… ho ho… thing….”), it is absolutely delicious. As Caribou so eloquently states, the Ho Ho Mint Mocha is, “a minty way to prepare for walking 'neath the mistletoe! A scrumptious peppermint white mocha with with candy cane topping. It's perfect for the Ho Ho Holidays.”
       
It is, what I imagine, what one would find if they decided to horribly and sadistically cut open Santa Clause.

So there I was, waiting pleasantly in Caribou for my Santa lifeblood, when an unassuming woman strolled in. In what I think was attempt at an animalistic defense mechanism, her purple puffy coat made her look about three times bigger than she probably was. She wore a matching purple stocking cap on her head and clutched a semi-transparent purple plastic bag that dragged behind her, filled with something I couldn’t figure out. A few locks of curly blond hair stuck out from under the stocking cap and her expression, eyes narrow and lips pursed tightly together, was about as inviting as toad. I didn’t catch what kind of shoes she was wearing. My mind was too busy processing thoughts of “holyshitpurple.”

After she paused for a second while looking at the various drinks, she walked up to the counter.

“Yeah, uh, do you have holiday spice tea?” she leaked out.

“Um,” the cashier glanced back at a rack holding several bags of what I assume was tea, surveyed them for a second, and then turned back around. “Yep. I think so.”

Now, confirming the existence of holiday spice tea and then immediately following that declaration with an “I think so” is admittedly a little strange. Either you do or you don’t, Caribou Man. But I digress. I’m on his side here.

“Yeah ok,” the purple toad responded quickly. “I want an iced small of that.”

Judging by the slightly worried look on Caribou Man’s face at that moment, I was pretty sure that he didn’t actually know where the holiday spice tea was or, in reality, if they even had it.

“Um, ok,” he stammered.

And that, my friends, is apparently the straw that broke the toad’s back. The woman made one of those “ugh!” noises (a really attractive one, by the way) and then snapped back at Caribou Man.

“You know what? Forget it. Just forget it.”

I don’t think Caribou Man even got a word in before the toad woman, in all her 60 inch purple glory, turned around and stormed out of the shop. She walked right past me, muttering unintelligible grumblings and still dragging her big plastic bag which, by now, I was convinced was full of the hopes, wishes and happiness she had killed. As she passed, I said at an admittedly low volume, “Jesus. Chill out.”

Yes. I’m passive aggressive like that.

The Caribou Man took it all in stride, making me think that it wasn’t the first toad he had dealt with. Sure, he should have known if they actually had the tea and where it was located but God forbid he take more than two seconds to magically concoct the drink. The haste at which the toad woman became simply disgusted at Caribou Man was ridiculous. Somewhere along the line, probably during the time she was sprouting legs as a tadpole, her views on acceptable behaviors toward others became skewed. She obviously felt entitled to that drink right that second. Was she able to empathize with Caribou Man? Not even a little.

So why does toad woman fall into the second category? Her impatience. If she was deprived of positive reinforcement as a child, the Psychology 101 under my belt tells me that she most likely would’ve waited out the encounter with Caribou Man longer, being cold and callous all the while. Instead, at the nanosecond she felt he wasn’t sure of himself, she huffed and puffed and had had it with that simpleton. I can’t know for sure, but it certainly seemed like she was used to having things the second she wanted them. Too many Care Bear souls as a child, I would say.

It always makes me angry when people show zero respect, even if they might have a small reason to be perturbed. I continued to wait for my drink while thinking about the toad woman and becoming more annoyed with each passing second. People need to take it easy and not feel so damn entitled to perfect and immediate ser-

“Medium milk-chocolate Ho Ho Mocha?”

-what? It was ready? I popped open the lid, took the first sip and, as the whipped cream, peppermint and chocolate all coated my taste buds, the toad woman and her bitchy attitude melted away. Everything just felt whimsical, red and green and delicious as hell. 

The Ho Ho Mint Mocha. Is there anything it can't do?

Lesson for the day-
Entitlement begets elitism. Elitism begets impatience. Impatience begets a bitch.

People That Are Totally Awesome And I’m Not Even Joking

1. Possibly insane and arm-flailing woman yelling at a ghost. 

2. Drenched-in-purple toad woman dragging a bag of murdered happiness behind her.


Sure, everyone gets annoyed and has a bad day but tell me, Shredders- have you ever encountered a bitter, fun-sucking soul of toad woman proportions? Tell your tale in the comments!