RIP ABP, replacement: TBD

We're so sad to see that yellow go.
We're so sad to see that yellow go. // Creative Commons

Au Bon Pain is out, but what’s in? A lot of rumors have been flying around Yale as to what will replace Blue State’s immature, bed-wetting younger brother. Let’s take a moment to break down the possibilities.

Brooks Brothers

I’ve heard from many people that this national chain will open soon on the Flower Lady’s corner. All I have to say is no thank you. Doesn’t it seem monotonous to anyone that a Brook Brothers would be across the street from Gant and Jack Wills, down the sidewalk from J. Crew, and a stone’s throw from the new J. Press location? The world already thinks we’re WASP-y. Do we really need a stuffy fifth store for buying cable-knit sweaters to toss over our shoulders and tie around our necks?

Anthropologie

Unnecessary. If homeless chic is more your style, why pay? Revolt! Steal your outfits from lost and found bins. Tear clothes off pedestrians’ backs. In other news, American Apparel is probably going out of business, so maybe there will be more of a market for $45 block tees. Who knows?

Jamba Juice

Cross your fingers, people. A Jamba Juice on that corner would be God’s gift to Yalies. Imagine: it’s four o’clock in the afternoon and you’re fading fast after a grueling day. What are you going to get? The same cold brew you’ve had from Blue State every day for the past month? Ha! Not anymore! You’re going to Jamba Juice for a motherfucking 30 oz. Caribbean Passion smoothie with a double energy/protein shot. Doesn’t that sound better than a teal cable-knit sweater? Yes. Yes it does.

Chipotle

I know what you’re thinking. “We already have a Chipotle. Why have two?” Because reasons, my ignorant tropical fish. Because reasons. Let me paint a picture for you: you’re on your way back from the Criterion. You’ve just caught a matinee with some friends and you’re not feeling a dining hall dinner, so you grab a carnitas burrito from Chipotle. Good move. You’re walking, you’re walking, and then BOOM. You realize you forgot to buy chips and guac. Bad move. You’re already passing Trumbull, though, and it’s too far to turn back. This is a disaster, seemingly the Hindenburg moment of your day, right? WRONG, because there’s another Chipotle on the corner of York and Elm. So go get your chips and guac. You deserve it, champ.

Rainforest Café

Don’t even pretend like this wouldn’t be the best thing to happen to this campus since we went co-ed. We all know Rainforest Café. If you don’t, google it now because apparently none of your 3rd grade friends had awesome birthday parties. Rainforest Café is like James Cameron’s Avatar meets Chuck E. Cheese, so it’s pretty much the best thing ever. False tree cover clings to the ceiling, fog machines ooze a sweet-smelling chemical mist, and animatronic creatures recreate a mystical yet low-budget tropical environment. Forget ending the night at Box. Finish off your Saturday with lava nachos, a rainforest burger and a sparkling volcano dessert.

Medieval Times Dinner and Tournament

One time my middle school medieval history class went on a field trip to Medieval Times in Lyndhurst, N.J., and up until then, it was the best thing to happen in my young life. The whole place is an attempt to recreate a medieval castle. The bar offers mead and other adult drinks while kids raid the gift shop for plastic broadswords. A two-hour jousting tournament plays out in front of you while you eat a “historically accurate” meal. (The “medieval” meal is curiously made up of chicken, tomato soup, garlic bread, and buttery mashed potatoes. My guess would have been maggoty black bread or horseflesh. Or nothing.) You’re even encouraged to call your server wench or squire. History, right?! Some of you might not get the appeal of a Medieval Times on the corner of York and Elm, but you just don’t get it. Or at least that’s what I told my middle school friends when I got waaayyyyyy too into it.

Panda Pit

On Red Hot Poker retreat in Brooklyn last year we wandered into an abandoned warehouse where we found a giant wooden pen filled to the brim with hundreds upon hundreds of factory-reject stuffed animal pandas. We jumped into it. This speaks for itself.

Touch Tunnel

À la interactive science centers. The sort of thing where you can disappear, touch whatever you want, and emerge twenty minutes later after a nervous breakdown in pitch blackness.

A pumpkin spice candle-scented room filled with kittens, sleeping bags, and balloons

Give me one reason why we shouldn’t.

***

Some of these are more realistic than others (i.e. the touch tunnel, Medieval Times), but at the end of the day, all I really want is a Jamba Juice. Is that too much to ask?

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