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. Here are Parts I, II, and III.

We admit to making snap judgments based solely on the perception of a snooty atmosphere. If a place appears hoity-toit, we usually hold our nose and wallet and dash past. We've been proven wrong a few times, but feel it's generally okay to judge a store by its front (and what/who you can see through its windows). We're talking about places like Abercrombie and Fitch, the new Portage restaurant up our hill, and Uptown's Caffe Ladro.

Ladro, though, is the one snooty place that we must frequent, because it's now home to the best coffee in the neighborhood. The best we pass on our way to work, anyway. And the price, size, and temperature are all good. But the staff seems to know, like predators sense weak prey, that we wouldn't be there if we'd just learn to get up earlier and make our own coffee. Other people get smiles and verbal niceties. We don't even get our coffee set within easy reach. It's cool, though. We don't want to be in their club anyway.

Because the baristas always look like they just ended a bender, showed up at Ladro instead of Caffe Minnie's, and forgot their friendly charm. They're too cool and blithe/stylish to care what anyone might think. They'll ask what you want and if you want some food with that—but that’s it. And if they fancy your vibe, they'll call you "Hon" (not us) or use your name (nope). If you enjoy eavesdropping on barista chit-chat—who's cool, what reality show's cool, what cool thing they did the night before—this is your place.

Because they absconded with our Ladro coffee card. We'd received one as a gift, used it twice (still had about $15 on it), and one morning they said it didn't work. Huh? They promised to take care of the problem—put our order on the house, took our number, and said they'd call us later—but they didn't. When we asked about it the next morning, they either feigned ignorance or honestly didn't know who we were or what the hell we were talking about. Either way, we never got that card back, or the money on it.

Because a Ladro barista recently decided to give him/herself a tip—on our debit card. (Check the receipt.) Our statement shows $4.23. Pretty clear that they took the liberty of adding a buck. We don't believe we're wrong to call this an act of vile knavery. But how uncool would we be if we brought in that receipt, a statement, and started yelling about somebody stealing our dollar? And what would they do, other than laugh?

These guys'll have to start showering, saying hello, and calling us pet names to ever earn an extra buck from us. Our recommendation: always pay with cash, and never tip. Those of you in Club Ladro can help them pay the rent.