My “beef” with Seattle

Alright, little journalists….listen up. Miss Harlow is going to clarify WHY I have such a burning hatred for Seattle.

When I was a wee lass of 10, I was into grunge music. Of course, it was the 90’s-who the hell wasn’t? Mind you, it was late 90’s, but I was obsessed with the glorious dirty rockers. I had warped fantasies about riding the train to Seattle, meeting some grunge rockers who let me be their roadie. Not groupie. Roadie. I was 10, you pervers.

For my 11th birthday, my grand ol’ pops surprised me with a trip to Seattle to go see Pearl Jam perform. I was all bouts of excited, though I hid it well. It’s grunge, not the Backstreet Boys.

Dad decided to drive there, and within five minutes of entering Seattle’s city limits, the car breaks down. I imagine there’s an invisible Gandalf at the border yelling into the wind "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"

I’m not a mechanic, but I remember the car was on fire. Something about a piston putting a hole through the engine and getting oil everywhere. We made it out safe, of course. The fire truck came, a tow truck was called and we grabbed a taxi.

My dad was a trooper though. Instead of heading to the train station to go home, he said the show must go on and we must be there to watch it. We get dropped off down town and do some sight seeing. Sight seeing for me meant people watching (I honestly can’t help myself. I’m embarrassing).  And let me just say…90% of Seattle residents are ASSHOLES.

While being distracted by the Space Needle, my dad didn’t notice that I had been approach by some asshole homeless man and he was yelling at me to give him money. He grabbed me and started shaking me. My dad luckily turned around and decked the guy. BOOM. The man laid passed out.

So far, it was shaping out to be the BEST birthday ever. ……

After that, my dad was paranoid and wouldn’t let go of my hand. It started raining. Downpour rain. So we went inside some deli shop for cover and food.

I wish I knew the name of that place, because I’d curse them to hell. I got food poisoning. It didn’t hit we were at the show. I spent an hour inside the most disgusting porter potty you could imagine. My dad was able to carry me to the taxi and we got on a bus home.

I didn’t even get to see Pearl Jam.

That’s my experience with Seattle. I vowed to never go back.

To all you diarists who hail from the Land of the Rotten….I won’t hold it against you. But I sure as hell won’t be visiting you.