A Super Double Mocha Espresso Blog of Ultra-Caffeinated Fun (ie, My Week in Seattle)

Warning: This blog contains excess amounts of paragraphs. In other words, it's freaking long. Viewer discretion is advised.

Last Sunday, I embarked on my journey to Seattle, Washington.

"But why," you may ask.

Well my inquisitive invisible friend, I attended the NAFSA Conference, which is for administrators, advisors, etc. in my field of working for and with international education. So as I sip on my non-Starbucks coffee, let's delve into the week that was easily the best week I ever spent in Seattle*.

Sunday

Look Kids! Big Ben...Parliament

For some inane reason, despite the fact that work was footing the bill for the whole trip, I thought I'd save them some money by looking for the Economy Parking Lot at Philadelphia International Airport (airport code PHL to be used from here on in so I can delay the onset of Carpel Tunnel by a week or two). I'm not a big fan of the non-Airport lots, because:

A.) I'm always afraid the shuttle will take too long to get to the airport
and
B.) I don't care if said parking lot uses country names for parking lot sections; being told I'm parking in Zimbabwe is a little unsettling.

So according to PHL's website, the lot was "slightly" past gate F, which is the last gate of the airport. I really should have known from the outset that my definition of slightly was going to differ from theirs. First off, the "sign" for economy parking was so barely noticeable that, well, I didn't notice it at first. When I finally did take note of the sign, I found I had to make a left almost immediately. I thought the next left was the parking lot, until I saw Enterprise Rent-a-Car's giant ass "This Is Not a Parking Lot" sign. Since this is the end of the airport, I hopped back onto I-95 to play this game all over again. But of course, I hopped back onto I-95 to play this game all over again in the "Bus Only" lane. At this point, the same word kept coming out of my mouth over and over again. Hint: it rhymes with duck.

I made it back to the airport, probably to the dismay of every bus driver in the lane that I invaded. I look very closely for the signs this time; upon closer inspection, it seemed that I had to get back onto 95 anyway to find the damn place. So I go back onto I-95 a second time, this time driving in lanes specifically designed for vehicles without a tip jar. I still couldn't find the damn place. I said to myself, "I'm doing this one more time. If I don't find it, work is just paying the extra."

Somehow, I don't think my company will be happy with the $110 parking fee...

Off We Go...

Nothing of note really happened on the flight to Seattle, except for the fact I broke my vow of never peeing in an airplane restroom. Hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go.

I finally arrived in Seattle (Airport Code: WTF). Now I have always heard that Seattle is a very laid-back place. This must be true, because I'm sure Seattle residents wouldn't want something like signage to rattle their nature. Seriously, Seattle has the most confusing airport I have ever been to, bar none. There was not one sign telling you where transportation was. Luckily, I ran into a colleague from the Philadelphia area who is much more talented at asking people for directions than I am. Once we solved the mystery of the Labyrinth, we shared a taxi and went on our merry way.

Now anyone who knows me well knows my hatred of taxis (if you ever want to hear my harrowing Portsmouth experience, just ask). Well, this taxi ride was no better, extending my Streak of Lifetime Bad Taxi Experiences (tm) to four. Let me put it this way; either this guy's turn signal was in desperate need of repair, or he just sucked. I lean towards the latter.

I Arrive

To preface everything else, my Mom was actually at the conference at well with her school, as was my friend Candice (who also now works with another University). So I met up with them as soon as Jose the Wonder Driver dropped me off at the hotel. I dropped my bags off in my hotel room, and off we went to the city.

"I Paint in Broad Strokes"

- Anonymous

Within a half hour of walking through Seattle, every stereotype about this place was proven true. On every block was a Starbucks or three (total Starbucks count to be divulged later). Walking the streets was what I imagine walking through Woodstock must have been like without the car fires and gratuitous nudity. Oh, it also rained. If there any other stereotypes of Seattle I'm missing, let me know, because I'm pretty sure I was witness to them in some fashion.

Culinary Caste Systems

For dinner, we went to Ipanema's (as in "The Girl Of") for dinner. The Brazilian hostess sat us down in one section of the restaurant. After she indirectly divulged that she was likely working illegally, we noticed the menu had a limited selection; there was one section for Appetizers, while another section simply said, "Buffet - $35.95." Not wanting to pay that much for a buffet, we asked if we could simply order appetizers. We were told we could...but only if we sat in a different part of the restaurant. I'm not making any of this up.

Now bear in mind...this restaurant is roughly the size of a Burger King, so this "other section" was in clear view from where we were already sitting. We sat at this new section, looking longingly at the "privileged" section about 20 feet away. To rub our lower status in our faces, they took away our large glasses of water and gave us new glasses that were roughly the size of a small Sippie Cup. In retrospect, I should have used my knowledge of Immigration regulations to blackmail their illegal employing asses into giving us a free buffet and a larger glass of water. I should have told them Pele sucked too. But that's hindsight for you.

My body was still on Eastern Standard Time, so I was whooped by this point. We called it a night and prepared for...

Monday (nice segway, huh?)

As An Aside...

For breakfast, my mom and I went to an English pub called Elephant & Castle. The only real thing of note is that our waitress spoke in a foreign accent that, even five days later, I still can't figure out where the hell it was from. We'll just err on the side of caution and say it's Jersey.

A Festival of Peace, Love, and Shitloads of Foreign Food

We later went to some festival right by the Space Needle. Remember what I said earlier about Seattle being like Woodstock? This festival wasn't like Woodstock...it was freaking Woodstock.

Ok, again without the aforementioned burning cars and naked people.

To top it off, I think this place was the United Nations of food. I don't quite know what Estonian food tastes like, but I wasn't feeling daring enough to find out either. So with such a multitude of culinary options to choose from, I opted to go to the indoor mall to get a caesar salad at a pub.

And I just realized I've probably said the word "pub" more in this blog than I collectively have in my entire life. If I start longing for fish and chips and asking if I can borrow your "tele", you have full permission to slap me.

Fit to be Thai'd

We went to a Thai restaurant for dinner. I'm guessing they mistook my short stature for someone with a Kid's Meal appetite (or age), as the "portion" they served of beef wouldn't have satisfied my fish. I'm also guessing they don't see the necessity for beverages with a spicy meal, as they didn't serve my Mom's or Candice's drink until well after they got their dinner. For their sake, I hope the low tip translates well in Thai currency.

Tuesday

This was scheduled to be my first day of work. I had a choice:

A.) Go to the day's sole scheduled conference session.
or
B.) Eat an expensive meal at the Space Needle on work's tab.

Ultimately, I had to think about what was the most responsible thing to do, as my company was paying me to work, not just eat at their expense. I was at this conference to network and learn new information that could benefit myself, my colleagues, and the greater community.

So if you're ever in the Space Needle, I highly recommend the salmon. It's divine.

I Hate Clowns

That night, we went to NAFSA's opening Street Reception. We were on the fence on whether or not to go...one clown in stilts was all it took for me to know that I needed to be elsewhere. ANYWHERE. I have always lived by a credo that I will avoid clowns at all costs. And dammit, I plan on sticking to it.

Wednesday

I Guess I Should Actually *sigh* Work

I finally went to sessions on Wednesday. All I really got out of it was that our government was inept, but then again, it usually only takes one Bush Press Conference to confirm that fact.

I did, however, go to one session that was run by Immigration attorneys. It was very well done, though if I heard the phrase, "But my interpretation..." one more time, I was going to hold them in contempt of court. I don't know if I really have the power to do that, since we weren't in a court room and I have no legal degree, but this is my story/fantasy.

So there.

As the Stomach Turns

Candice invited us to go out to lunch with some colleagues of hers. We went to this sushi place. One problem...I hate sushi. Luckily, it was an open buffet, so there was plenty of other greasy food for me to dig my fork into.

Now I'm the first to admit...when it comes to meeting new people, I tend to be on the introverted side. So while I try my best not to be aloof, I wasn't saying much to the new people I met. Well, one guy at the table was talking briefly to me, and mentioned that a similar position to mine was opening up in his University. He asked, "How long have you been working in your position?" Before I finished the words, "Two-and-a-half years," he was on the phone to his boss at his University. Despite knowing nothing about me other than I'm short and don't use chopsticks to eat, he started recommending me to his boss for this new job. At this point, my stomach started doing things normally reserved for the flu or food poisoning. It was just such a whirlwind moment; I didn't know what the hell was going on. He told me was going to email me the job description; true to his word, I got the description a few hours later.

I mulled (some would say obsessed) over the decision for the next few days. Ultimately, I decided that, for the time being, I'm going to stay put. I know some people reading this may be saying, "You have to jump on this opportunity," and I totally see that viewpoint as valid. But from my perspective, I've just started to gain momentum in getting respect on-campus. I got into the position very young, so it's been an uphill climb to get to the point I'm at. I just see a lot of exciting possibilities with where I'm at right now. I'm not saying I'm never going to move on or move outside of the area; I can pretty much guarantee I will. But after weighing all of the options (including salary, which is another consideration), I feel pretty comfortable with staying where I'm at right now.

I feel like the past few paragraphs have been too devoid of humor, so purple monkey dishwasher.

ICHIROOOOOO

My mom and I went to the Mariners game that night. First, came number five in my Streak of Lifetime Bad Taxi Experiences (tm). As we entered the car, the driver was playing a rap song that, for the sake of political correctness, we'll call "Female Dog N-Word." It took him about 2 miles to realize that maybe this wasn't the most appropriate song to be playing with customers in the car, so he goes the polar opposite and turns on NPR...where they go into graphic detail about some Shingles epidemic.

I was better off with Gangsta Rap.

So with our newfound medical knowledge, we got to the game and we had absolutely kickass seats. We were 8th row on the field, right alongside the first baseline. This also meant we got to see the famed Ichiro up-close in right field. I think half of Tokyo sat behind me, as they went absolutely nuts every time Ichiro did as much as scratch his nose (which my Mom actually got a picture of).

Because of the *shocker* rain, I also bore witness to the magic of the retractable roof. Like I said earlier, it takes little to amaze me. What can I say...I'm an impressionable lad.

Now for those unfamiliar to having work pay for everything on a business trip, you need receipts for everything. It becomes a labor of organization after awhile, but you do what you have to do. Well, after paying 12 bucks for a foot-long and a Fosters, I asked the vendor for a receipt. Not having a cash register, he tore out a piece of loose-leaf from a notebook and handwrote my "receipt." Somehow, I don't think work would accept this; if they did, I'd be buying stock in Mead right now.

Oh, and the Mariners won. They're not my home team or even my home league, so the "I care" factor is pretty low. It was a very cool experience, nonetheless.

Of course, we had to take a taxi back to the hotel, leading to numero sixo of Streak of Lifetime Bad Taxi Experiences (tm). I ignorantly assumed there was a "Taxi Code of Driving Ethics", including such minute by-laws as "Don't run red lights" and "Don't swerve." But alas, I assumed wrong.

Thursday

Food Glorious Food

Thursday revolved around one word and one word only...food. I met a colleague for lunch at Nordstrom's. Now you're probably saying what I did, "Nordstrom's has a restaurant?" You're also probably saying what I did, "I bet it's freaking expensive." The answers to our communal questions are "Yes" and "Uh-huh." But he paid, so it didn't make a lick of difference to me.

For dinner, my Mom and I ate at Benihana's to celebrate my birthday early *cough June 6*. Benihana's is very similar to Hibachi, though there was no Onion Volcano. However, unlike Hibachi's as of late, this cook actually showed discernable signs of a personality, so it was a fair trade-off.

After dinner, we went reception hopping to mooch free food at other's expense. Suffice to say, I felt very fat after the day was done.

Oh, and I skipped all the day's sessions. Some might say, "You really didn't go for the intended purpose," to which I'd bow.

Friday

Back to the Maze...err...Airport

Yup, the conference was all done at this point. I took a shuttle back to WTF; the shuttle was uber-late, so I really started worrying that I wouldn't catch my flight. Luckily, I still made it to the airport with a little bit of time to spare.

As I was using the electronic check-in, I started digging through my bag to figure out what the hell my flight number was. Before I could even pull out my itinerary, the US Airways worker said, "You are Flight 76, sir." Now either US Airways only had one flight going out for the rest of the day, or this guy had some clairvoyant abilities that would probably be better served in another capacity...like telling me the correct Powerball numbers.

Wrap-Up

So I'm home now (obviously). Overall, it was a fabulous trip. I would do a "What Dan Learned," but I think the near-novel you just read covers my cranial intake pretty well. So with that, I bid adieu.

Oh, and the final Starbucks count: 12.

Until next time...
Dan

* This was the only week I've ever spent in Seattle. If you actually saw the asterik and came to this point, more power to you, because I damn near forgot I even put it there to begin with.