The Saga of Downtown Seattle

Does the public transit system have a complaint line? I don't know, but I hope they read my blog. This is an overly-detailed account of our adventures on Friday.

From Shoreline, WA, we opt to be eco-friendly and take the bus downtown to the Seattle Center. The fancy Metro Trip Planner tells us to walk south and take the 346 at 8:45. OK. About 5 blocks into the ride on the 346, we realize we are going south. The directions tell us to go north, despite the fact that our destination is southwards. So we go north again, passing our starting place for the second time, and finally arrive at the location of our second transfer. It is now 9:15.

We find the location at which the 301, our next bus, is to pick us up. Upon reading the little panel about that route, it is revealed that the last 301 left at 9:01 - fifteen minutes ago. The next bus comes at 4:17 pm. So, we talk to innocent bystanders and they tall us to take the 346 south to the Northgate transfer station, then switch to the 41. We cross the street and wait for a half hour. Finally, an hour behind schedule, we get on the 346 south, and pass our starting point for the third time. It has taken us an hour to get five blocks. Tapping our feet impatiently, my comrades and I step off the bus at Northgate, weave through the mess of "bus ports," and take the 41 downtown. We exit the bus at Westlake by recommendation of one specific friend. The monorail station is across the street. We are twenty blocks from Seattle Center. It is 10:45.

We wander to the sign listing the monorail fares and discover it's expensive. So, I scrutinize the back of my bus pass to find the following uplifting message: "Not valid on Seattle Center monorail." You mean this monorail? Yes, this monorail. My comrades are pissed off. We summon the will to walk all twenty blocks to the Seattle center. It is 11:00.

By some unknown force, we are driven to take pictures of frickin everything, despite being in our own city (yes, we were tourists in our own city). When we see the Center House, we scream like both a little girl and a young piglet and immerse ourselves in the warmth. We take more pictures, them head outside to the huge fountain and run around. We go to the Pacific Science Center, but do not enter, just take pictures. We have a low budget. It is 11:45.

We're hungry. Our initial plan was to go to the International District for lunch, but because we are late and angry at buses, we return to the warm center house (with Christmas decorations!) for lunch. Each comrade had a different lunch. I, a plain folk, opt for Subway. Another has Mexican, and another has Thai that he does not finish. One decides to spend $7 on some fat-greasy-american thing called a burger. After eating, Thai Guy brings us these delicious (albeit unhealthy) items called beignets. As I bite into mine, I learn the "beignet" is actually pronounced "Ben, yay!" Burger Guy devours his at astonishing speeds and ingests the leftover cinnamon and sugar in the tray before you could say "diabetes." After this hearty meal, we leave the Center House to return to the fountain. It is 12:30.

Running like schizophrenic chimpanzees around the fountain, we eventually need to return home. It takes several minutes to find and gather all of my comrades and several more to persuade them to leave. Finally, we find that bus 1 will take us all the way back to Westlake. We wait for an outrageous amount of time and discover that the bus is not only late, but also never. Route 2, apparently, also goes to Westlake, so it is Route 2 that we take. We arrive, exhausted and wet from the fountain, at Westlake station. It is 1:15.

At the Westlake transfer center/light rail station, I decide to get some exercise ant take the stairs. On the way down, I see what looks like someone's spilled mocha. I carefully step around it. Five steps later, its scent hits me. That's not a mocha. The many brown, solid objects floating in it should have been my first clue. Someone shit on the marble staircase. Not just shit. This is full blown diarrhea. I, quite literally, run away from the site of the disaster. At the foot of the staircase, we meet, both laughing and disgusted. For posterity, one comrade is sent to photograph the crime. He is nervous, and does so very quickly. Because of his haste, he actually missed. He just took a picture of plain old marble. We forget about it, partially, and scurry off to catch our bus. We traverse the complicated streets of downtown. We transfer to the 346 north at Northgate. We arrive at our starting point for the fourth time. It is 2:30.

For the photos associated with this trip, see this Picasa album. Sorry, no photos of the diarrhea.