Local Hippie Coffee Shop Replaced by Starbucks
by Delaen on Apr-29-2004
“The fact this particular building now houses a Starbucks makes me giggle every time I think about it.”

In WHO’s earlier Starbucks article, she made quick mention of a dumpy old coffee house where we spent our first date. Since you’re too lazy to click on the link and read the first paragraph of said article, I’ll post the snippet in question here.

“When my husband and I went on our first date, we finished off our evening at a dumpy old coffee shop right across the street from the college. Huddled in a corner avoiding eye contact with the creepy singing cashier, we joked that one day, this particular coffee shop would soon be replaced by a Starbucks. A mere 3 years later, our prophecy was fulfilled. Maybe it’s just us, but we weren’t angered by Starbucks taking over the coffee shop. We actually get a kick out of big businesses driving the ‘little guy’ out of the city. And Starbuck’s really improved the place, too. They painted over all that angsty poetry in the restroom and made it into a place I’d actually want to piss in.”

Since I fell in love with my now-wife there, this crapshack holds a very special place in my heart, and as such caused me to go back more than once just to reminisce. But the fact this particular building now houses a Starbucks makes me giggle every time I think about it.

Before it ran itself out of business, the building housed a disgustingly foul little “coffee” shop (I put coffee in quotes because the slop they sold can only be classified as coffee if you use a very liberal definition of the word. A more fitting term would be “horse-piss”) named “Brady’s”, where all the dirtball hippies that plague the local university campus would hang out. Unfortunately, “all” is an exaggeration. It would have been fantastic if all of them decided to congregate in a single, secluded spot, so all the rational and sane people (the few of them that there are around here) would know where to avoid.

Brady’s was a hellhole on wheels, but unlike other hellholes on wheels, Brady’s didn’t have wheels. I wish it would have, that way I could have rolled it to the top of a steep hill, given it a little shove, and gleefully laughed as it cratered on a telephone pole near the bottom and hundreds of detached hippie limbs scattered on the street. That’s neither here nor there though. Like I said, it didn’t have wheels. Little did I know my sadistic pipe-dream wasn’t nearly as callous as what actually happened to Brady’s, which I believe was the center of all the anti-corporation sentiment in the universe.

The few times we went in, there would be a group of unclean homeless-looking people huddled in the corner singing horrible folk music, as well as a few grimy, 45-year-old freshmen sitting at one of the unwashed tables contemplating an opening chess move for 35 minutes. I wish I could say this was the worst of the population, but these folks were a few of the more upstanding citizens who called this dump home. I don’t mean that as a figure of speech either, I think quite a few of them literally lived there. Hey, I guess it’s better than sleeping in the street. Maybe.

As bad as it was, the clientele was the least of Brady’s problems. I’ve never been to a “restaurant” that has given me worse service than I received there. Maybe if I’d have stopped bathing for a decade or so they would have paid me more attention, but a year was the longest I was willing to go. Even then they just glared at me like as if I’d strutted in wearing an Armani suit and a Rolex and pissed on their children while they were sleeping.

As a nice complement to the horrific service, the horse-piss they sold was served to me in a coffee mug that looked like it hadn’t been washed since Jimmy Carter was President, which they would hand-pick out of their fine array of mismatched mugs which hung threateningly above my head. I’d have asked them to put my drink in a different cup, but I thought the risk of a Hepatitis infection was small compared to the pain of seven tons of dirty Scooby-Doo cups crashing down on my skull.

However bad it may have been, it wouldn’t be fair of me to criticize their faults without pointing out the good they did. So I won’t forget to mention that they tried to make up for it by letting a thick layer of dirt build up to engulf the entire floor. It was an awful place.

Of course, as horrible businesses often do, it eventually went under. But before it did, a large group of those same grubby people stood outside the place for a week or two, holding up protest signs in hopes that they could somehow save the place.

Apparently “spending more of their own money there” wasn’t an option, because other than the final week, very few of them actually purchased anything there. All of the signs said something to the effect of “Don’t let the corporate world win, DOWN WITH STARBUCKS”, “Save Brady’s”, and “Homophobia is a social disease” (Which I think is a nice way of saying “I’m gay and insecure, please like me”). What that last one had to do with a coffee shop closing is beyond me, but the retards around here will use any chance they get to get a little protesting in.

Here are a few pictures of Brady’s Last Stand:

INSERT RELATED PICTURE HERE. FUCK YOU OLD WEB HOST.

No, I’m not making this up. This really is a picture taken inside Hell. Aside from the obvious lunatic in the foreground, you can notice a few of the nice features I’d mentioned previously. Most notably the “Hanging Shelf Thing of Diseased Cups”. As you can tell, if you’d woken up here one morning after a drunken stupor, you’d be very hard-pressed to convince yourself that you’re in a coffee shop, and not in some kind of crazy garage sale run by pedophilic rapists.

INSERT RELATED PICTURE HERE. FUCK YOU OLD WEB HOST.

This is scary chess-playing-man. If I were you, I wouldn’t take his queen, unless you want to be stabbed in the throat with a stiletto carved from a jailhouse toothbrush. The shirtless, red-faced, chess-playing psycho was a staple of every Brady’s visit.

INSERT RELATED PICTURE HERE. FUCK YOU OLD WEB HOST.

This is the evening entertainment. Are you not entertained?

INSERT RELATED PICTURE HERE. FUCK YOU OLD WEB HOST.

This is a band. They play music. It’s about the music, man. Just because they’ve had sex with animals, doesn’t make them bad people.

INSERT RELATED PICTURE HERE. FUCK YOU OLD WEB HOST.

I can’t even begin to tell you what our red-faced chess champion is doing here. He appears to be juggling, but he’s only holding one ball. Even I can do that. Either that or he’s giving some sort of cultic Shakespearian monologue, one that involves a hacky-sack.

Update: All these images were lost in our move to a new web host. Fuckers.

The fact that Brady’s has been replaced by a Starbucks must make the local hippie population cry themselves to sleep on a nightly basis, and I couldn’t be more pleased.



MORE THINGS FOR YOU TO DO

Browse the archives - You still have plenty to read. Get cracking.

Join the Forum - Club Hell is the #1 rated (by drunk Club Hell members) place on the entire Internet for discussing serious, funny, or just about any other topic you can think of. It's safe for work, unless you work somewhere where "fuck" can get you fired.