(footnotes are in parenthesizes and are not required to read. In fact I recommend not reading them.)
This Original Starbucks bears the original brown logo displaying the breasts of a two-tailed mermaid (1). Everyday it's line rolls out of its tiny space and down a sidewalk block, covering the storefronts of unopened businesses. There are many more businesses to its left that are open since it is located in the famous Pike Place market. Pike Place Market is filled with copious amounts of delicious food items that are for overpriced sale. My whole family was vacationing in Seattle just a little while ago, which is why I was there. Likely my third most enjoyable experience with the city took place at the Original Starbucks shop.
I knew nothing about Seattle before I arrived at the airport terminal, except that it had the Space Needle. In the terminal my whole family, exhausted, sat down on the hard blue connected chairs with our bags at our feet ready to sit in a moving metalcraft for roughly seven hours. Across from us sat hunched over a mildly acne scarred tall young man in black sunglasses and a plain red shirt, who looked roughly twenty years old. I, an aspiring writer, was watching the people in the airport just trying to describe them in my head for practice (2). This young man’s hands were clasped together and he had a carry-on suitcase and a backpack just like me.
For some reason or another he started to talk to my father, who sat directly across from him. He asked us where we were from and why Seattle? Turns out this young man was the son of the owners of a Seattle coffee shop called Vivace. According to him this espresso shop was reportedly famous for inventing latte art, and was considered by many espresso nerds to be the greatest coffee shop in the world. I looked it up on Wikipedia and it seemed to be the case. We promised that we would go to Vivace. The young man showed us an image of a latte that his father had made, then said that he had never gotten the hang of latte art himself. I desperately wanted to know more about this man, but I couldn't just ask him what his profession was, because we were just friendly strangers. He seemed like he would make an interesting character. I saw him once as we boarded the plane and never again. We forgot to go to Vivace, or any Coffee shop that espresso nerds like. We are not espresso nerds, and I have never drunk espresso.
My experience with coffee is casual. I know nothing about coffee. I have no right to review a coffee shop, even a Starbucks, and you should probably stop reading if you are looking for a recommendation, because I’m more interested in storytelling than evaluation of quality. I am numb to the taste of the black coffee that I usually drink. At the beginning of high school I started to drink coffee because I thought it would make me more adult, but it just made me addicted to it. If I drink anything that is flavorful different than I am distracted by the taste, but I might like it. One time a friend was astounded that I drank black coffee. They said I was brave. To me it’s simply the only way to drink the fuel without turning it into a sugary dessert, which I enjoy sometimes. Occasionally I take day old coffee in my house and put it in the microwave with a scoop of ice cream. This is delicious to me. My mother only drinks black coffee. Recently I’ve been trying to stop drinking coffee, because I just don’t want to be addicted to caffeine, and it has half worked, but I abandoned this goal while on vacation.
We looked at the line of people waiting to get coffee from the Original Starbucks, several times before ever getting in it. We spent four, or maybe three days in Seattle (3). The first time we looked at the line was the second time we visited Pike Place market and it consisted of me and mother going to a newer Starbucks realizing that it was new, then going down to the far end of the market where the Original Starbucks was located as my father and brother bought bagels. The line even that early in mourning stretched out past three, or four other storefronts. The line had those retractable guard rail stands that hook up to one another. We looked another time that day to see if the line had shortened, but it had grown by a decent amount. We said that we would go later, whenever that was.
On our second-to-last day in Seattle we went to the Starbucks Reserve Roastery, which is not located on Pike Place market, but nearby. It’s not what this review is about. It still impacted my experience at the original Starbucks. The Starbucks Reserve Roastery in Seattle was basically a fancy giant Starbucks with two counters. One counter served breakfast food which my brother and father got. The other counter served coffees which were apparently all unique to the Starbucks Reserve Roastery.
At the Reserve Roastery We got way too much coffee and did not drink it all. I got a strange special coffee which was apparently stored in a whiskey barrel. My mother tasted it and remarked that it tasted like whiskey. My father said it tasted like Kahlua. It was served in a whiskey glass, and had a color that appeared like whiskey. The whole image of it imitated whiskey. I think that I preferred my mother’s coffee sampler thing, because the whiskey barrel coffee had too much vanilla sweetener, but not enough to make me feel like I’m drinking ice cream. It was trying to imitate something other than itself. I know nothing about alcohol’s flavor, and have never drunk any in my life. I did not finish it.
The Original Starbucks was visited on our last day in Seattle. My brother and father packed our hotel room up as me and my mother went down to the Original Starbucks. We took the bus. Then we made great haste down through the Market and found the end of the line. We stepped in line. More than an entire block and ahead of us. Maybe an hour long wait? Was this all worth it? The line grew fast. People piled up behind us. Specifically the first people behind us were two men who already had coffees in their hands. We had our initial coffee in the hotel room using the pods from the machine. Soon we were not the people last in line, but were maybe roughly in the middle of it, but were standing in the same spot as we had been when we started. The two men behind us left the line.
In front of us in line was a mother and a child in a frilly pink stroller. I was attempting to read a book while in the line, but was also having a conversation with my mother. We were happy that we were completing our goal of actually going to Starbucks. A father showed up in front of me, without me noticing. He had brought treats from a Russian bakery. The mother did not seem to want them, but the small child loved the chocolate treat. They stayed there for a little while and a line moved forward. As we advanced at some point I peeked inside of the stroller with the corner of my eye and saw that the child had one hand missing. There was a stump of flesh. I instantly had a completely internal panic attack. Was I ablest for having the slight chills at the sight of a lack of hand? I calmed myself, by just ignoring it. They left the line after a little bit, because the child’s mother wanted food.
The line more frequently shortened because of people leaving, and not because of people getting inside to get coffee. It was a game where the winners were ones with time and desire to get a drink from the Original Starbucks. Starbucks is the most chain coffee shop of all chain coffee shops. Imagine the other coffee shops in Seattle we could go to. We could go to that shop called Vivace that the young man from the airplane terminal told us about. It sounded like they made genuinely excellent coffee. Although I probably am not able to distinguish excellent coffee from horrible coffee. Everyone who was in line at the Original Starbucks was probably a tourist, who was in Seattle and figured “hey why not. Maybe I'll tell my friends about it, or something like that”
Soon in front of me was a father with two sons. One son was my age, or older, maybe around 18. He wore sunglasses and a backwards baseball cap and he had a camera bag on his side. The younger son looked no more than 12, and I have forgotten the face of their largely silent father. When we got close to the door only one group was ahead of them. The elder son took their photo for them using their phone. The younger son squeaked something about the elder boy being a “professional photographer” and the elder son laughed. The group seemed awkward about it. It was all entertaining to watch. When the family ahead of us went inside my mother took a photo of me in front of the logo dangling from the overhang.
Eventually the employee at the door beckoned us inside the tiny dark space. A sign advertised their rainbow unicorn latte thing for pride. A barista outside of the bar greeted us and asked if we have ever been there before. We had not and told us about the location. They mentioned that this Starbucks sold only beverages. We asked if they had any unique beverages at that location. They had some different beans we could buy and a souvenir cup.
When my mother ordered a black coffee, a barista in a black apron was surprised. My mother was confused that ordering just straight coffee was considered strange and out of the ordinary. I ordered a vanilla Frappuccino, or something like that. My mother asked the barista what the black apron meant and he answered that he had gone through a training course to be a Starbucks coffee master. All of the baristas at the location were adults and they seemed very busy, and like they were rather good at barista work. My mother asked if they got paid more at this location, and the barista in the black apron said “not really”
The elder son walked to the muscular barista with green hair working the bar. The elder son told the barista about a cruise they had just been on, and the muscular barista told him about his fear of water. The barista in the black apron brewed my mother’s cup of black coffee individually since they didn't usually just do black coffee. The muscular barista handed me my drink. I was half convinced that I had seen him earlier, but it probably wasn't true.
We left happily. We were starving at that point from waiting in line for the last hour. We walked across the market to various stores. We picked up food from a cramped Russian bakery called Piroshky’s, which we had seen people eating from. Then some things from two smaller bakeries. We had not eaten breakfast.
We settled down on a picnic table within sight of the fish shop in Pike Place market. We sat at the table third, or second—I don’t remember which, from the back of the fence around the tables on the left side facing the Pike Place Market sign. My mother and I shared our food as two performers played jazz over by the fish shop, but we couldn't hear the upright bass player because of the distance. The music is mostly crowded out by people’s conversation, though the soprano saxophone’s blasting made me excited.
Eventually my father and brother picked us up in a massive black rental SUV. It was his choice. He got it from a car rental place that must have had many locations. It had a Texas license plate which we all found amusing, and I silently resented (4 WARNING EXTREMELY BORING FOOTNOTE). A fear that anyone who saw it would assume the worst crept over my whole thought about the large doored tall car.
The coffee tasted sweet, but creamy which was exactly what I wanted out of it. It was supposedly vanilla flavored and I think the name did the job. I wanted to have something that reminded me of ice cream. What I really wanted to eat was ice cream. Coffee can be turned into ice cream without it being bad. Or maybe it is bad, but I think that it’s very approachable and easy. It’s not alienating
We drove off to Vancouver after this. The whole vacation spanned one day less than a fortnight, with the last two days being spent in Victoria. I finished my coffee on the car ride, and threw away the cup when we got to Vancouver. It still held melted whipped cream in the trench at the bottom of it. It felt difficult to dispose of, like getting rid of my entire mourning. My mother left hers unfinished in the car. I threw the cup out a few days later. Throwing both of them away was a bit difficult. I struggle with throwing away meaningless homework assignments and keep candy wrappers in my pockets. Imagine plastic and cardboard from the Original Starbucks going into the garbage. Plastic that looked identical to the same stuff from any Starbucks, exactly as I expected.
(1)
Ok. So it isn't actually the Original Starbucks. This is the oldest still operating Starbucks building. There was a sticker attached to a street sign reading “the first Starbucks is a myth” next to a QR code leading to a website explaining everything. We encountered this sign while waiting in line. Basically the real original Starbucks burned down, and this Starbucks was one of the first extra commercial locations. It still had the original location’s famous emblem. This website is actually not anti-Starbucks in tone, but seems to assure its readers that the Original Starbucks is still worth going to. It’s like it wanted to preserve the entertainment value of a supposedly Original Starbucks, but also the truth. We asked an employee about it when we got inside. The employee seemed cautious and talked around the question. I assume the company strongly discourages the idea. You could think of the Original Starbucks as being just as much of a tourist trap as a curiosity shop we visited in Seattle. The curiosity shop was the second most fun thing, and was rather old and exactly what you’d expect. It’s just that when you go into a curiosity shop you know that it’s lying to you, and that’s the fun part. The Original Starbucks is a false origin myth for some sort of brand–deity. I think I just love being advertised though, and a lot of other people seem to like it as well.
(2)
This was me following the advice of a dead eccentric writer who I idolize despite not having read his works. Maybe it’s not good to follow this advice because I haven't read his books to see if the advice worked out for him. He claimed that he learned the advice from a “Chicago mafia don”. The precise wording of the advice was something like “see everyone before they see you” the idea being that most people never even saw the faces of people, and they just pass them by. He said this in a recording of a lecture about creative reading and writing, which I had found online. This advice is meant to help you learn to describe things, because you are observing way more than you usually do, or else that’s how I took it. I don’t remember why he actually meant it, because the lecture was rambly and unclear.
(3)
This review is based on poorly aligned memories. I would prefer to call this a work of fiction, because then I could excuse the gaps, but I would just be lying to your face on a different matter.
(4)
Very boring. Don’t read this footnote.
Speaking of license plates during the entirety of this trip I was paying close attention to plates. In Seattle most plates are from Washington of course, but you’ll see a California plate once a block. You rarely see Oregon plates. I counted the Oregon plates I saw during the trip. Ended up being around 24 plates seen in Seattle. I had a precise count during the trip, but I’ve forgotten. You may know that California does not border Washington state, but Oregon does. The lack of Oregon plates must result from less population.