If you’ve been following along, you know that this coffee endeavor has been and will continue to be somewhat dampened for me due to the extreme amounts of parallel parking on busy streets that is required when dealing with Seattle. The experience at Broadcast Coffee was no different. Anyone who knows me knows that I have slight to severe anxiety about dealing with parking in cities. Driving in cities, driving on the freeway, doing anything else motor-vehicle related is perfectly fine; in fact, I quite enjoy it. However, parking is my kryptonite. I’m a terrible parallel-parker and have, on more than one occasion, contemplated the legitimacy of me passing my driver’s test on that fateful day back in 2005.
Anyways, I drove myself into Seattle, fearing the worst. Which, it happens, is what I got. The traffic was bad, the streets were busy, the parking was parallel, and there were no spots to be found. I would like to emphasize that what happens next is nothing short of a miracle in my life: I did not panic. I did not use a GPS. I simply drove around for a few minutes, circling back to streets I had already driven, going to areas I had never been before, trying to find a place to park. Now, normally, I would look desperately for a parking lot, even if it meant that I had to pay a ridiculous amount. In the past, I would gladly pay any amount to get out of the “Parallel Parking with Angry Drivers Behind You, Watching You, Judging You” business. This time, however, I passed several pay lots and passed them by, determined to find a free street parking spot, determined to grow as both a person and a driver.
After about ten minutes of searching, I found what I was looking for. Although it meant having to deal with this, my least favorite intersection in the entire world. I mean, seriously, what is this? Two roundabout-esque structures with five entrances each? It’s like a small child took some molly with Miley and decided to get into the city planning game:
On my walk from my car to Broadcast, I had the distinct pleasure of walking behind two college-aged guys talking about the "chick I banged last night" until the "banger" slipped on a slick grate on the sidewalk and fell down. Justice. Anyways, it was a stereotypical, rainy Seattle day, so I found Broadcast like this:
Kristy was waiting inside Broadcast, because she was driving from Olympia and met me there. She brought me a biscuit.
The menu is simple, which is always refreshing to me. There are about ten options. I got a nonfat latte and paid with a credit card on one of those iPads equipped with a credit card reader. Every time I use one of those and sign my name with my finger I feel like I'm using a very fake Playskool machine that is going to steal all my very real money. I don't know why. (Also, I just realized now that it is a TERRIBLE idea to spell "school" wrong on toys that are meant for children. Why, Playskool, why?)
There really isn't a whole lot to say about this place. The coffee was fine, the barista man was nice (he had a t-shirt with drawings of coffee cups on it, which gave him an air of credibility). The coffeeshop itself is pretty large with lots of tables and interesting art. Overall, it was just fine. Nothing great. Nothing bad.
My favorite part was the following juxtaposition of hate and love on my way back to my car. People are wonderful.
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