It’s just coffee.

8 April 2008

flickr: nick.seal

I had just dropped my mother in law off at the airport and I was anticipating my free coffee from Starbucks that I read about at the Consumerist. Heading north on the Five I turned my wipers on again as it started to rain, just before turning up the radio. The reporter was excitedly waiting outside of the Pike Place Market Starbucks awaiting the patron’s response. “That’s it!?!” He exclaimed when the guy replied with, “hmm, it’s coffee.” If I had about fifteen more minutes I might have headed down there for a cup myself. Instead I went to the corporate headquarters in the SODO district, close to where I work.

Institutionalized to the convenience of modern living I was a little disappointed that I had to get out of my car and go into the establishment. How bourgeoise. To think that I usually take the manual doors at Target in an effort to be subversive to the establishment and our ever-growing convenience of automation, or perhaps merely to impose a self penance in order to justify my guilt of shopping at such a major box store. I can be so juvenile, if only in my head.

I was greeted by the security guard/concierge, which is to say he held the door for me and avoided eye contact. I knew the coffee wasn’t free until nine, but I still wanted to take part in this pop culture marketing hype. As I entered I joined a few dozen Seattleites/hipsters/transients for their morning routine. I ordered my drip coffee from the over friendly barista who placed the empty cup on the counter. I moved down to the register to pay and once I did she just stared at me. There we were, two baristas staring blankly at me and my empty cup between us. I panicked and grabbed my cup. Was I supposed to pour it myself somewhere behind me? Apparently not, and grabbing your cup before the barista does seems to be a major Faux Paux. They both stopped in confusion as if I were about to hold the place up. I apologized and mumbled some excuse about it still being early despite that I had already been up for three hours and had three cups of coffee. They poured and sleeved my beverage. I walked out and past my eye contact avoiding friend toward my car. “How is it?” My wife asked over the cell phone before I had my first sip. “I don’t know,” I told her, “I haven’t had it yet. Hold on.” ~sip~ “It taste like Starbucks coffee. I don’t like it.”

I could taste the nuttiness to it, but it still tasted like watered down over roasted coffee. In the meantime I’ll stick with Bargreen’s, the best coffee I’ve had outside of Columbia. If you ever find yourself passing through downtown Everett on a Monday or Wednesday morning, you’ll smell it roasting. Yum.

Pacific NW | The Measure Of Our Worth

6 January 2008

Pacific NW | The Measure Of Our Worth | Seattle Times Newspaper


…Being an American is expensive…

…The poor rent, the middle are buying, the rich own. The poor pay interest; the rich earn it…