Editor's Note: Earlier this year, Seattlest Clint's favorite coffee shop was shuttered. What followed was a series of indignities that should chill the heart of any coffee-loving Seattleite. By which we mean, any Seattleite. We present Clint's harrowing story in five parts, beginning today and continuing all week.

There's not much more life-affirming an event than a barista remembering your name, your drink of choice, and how you take it. We can't speak for everyone, but we hold dear those two seconds when they tell us—with only a hint of uncertainty, an up-tick of the last word—what we want. We feel like we belong. Like we could tell the barista that they'd like to hang out sometime, with only a hint of uncertainty, and they'd say to name the place and time. So when we found out that the few baristas we'd connected with had been unceremoniously relieved of their jobs, we felt robbed, personally violated. Heartbroken.

One weekend night, while our grief was still painfully fresh, we walked into Peet's Coffee in Fremont. As we scanned the display of coffee-centric stuff in the entry—

"Medium shot in the dark, no room. Medium vanilla latte."

There were other patrons in the shop, but something about the voice—a familiar up-tick at "room" and "latte"—told us the female behind it was talking to us. We looked up and there was one of the girls who’d worked the Metro Market Peet's. (We'll call her Rachel.) Joy!

We float to the counter and nod, nod, nod in disbelief. We take control of our slack jaw and say wow! And that we'd also like a pound of Sulawesi-Kalosi. You got it, she says, and digs into the beans with a scoop. When she turns back, she breaches the subject of Metro Market, proving that baristas can read minds, that our connection was indeed intimate.

Rachel: You saw they got rid of Peet's in Uptown, right?
Seattlest: [diatribe]
Rachel: I know. I was working the night they kicked us out. Their people showed up as we were cleaning up—they just walked over and started taking our stuff down.
Seattlest: [shock]
Rachel: Yeah. These two ladies came over, said they were replacing us, and told us to leave.
Seattlest: [outrage]
Rachel: One of them was wearing Lisa Loeb glasses.
Seattlest: Damn her!
Rachel: There was no warning, nothing. Not a word from the store management. We had to call Peet's to see what was up.
Seattlest: [bitterness]
Rachel: They didn’t know anything about it. But they put us on in whichever store we wanted—Fremont or Green Lake.

What we wanted was to hug Rachel and her coworkers, but there was a wide counter between us. Instead, we asked whom we could thank. She shrugged and said to thank Peet's—which might not be a bad place to work.

We did, we do, and we will. Thanks to Peet's, we still have our barista-mates, our sense of belonging, and another reason to hate on those Metro Market bastards. If we can get Peet's to open a store in Queen Anne, and get Rachel back in the neighborhood, all will be right with the world.