Dumpster Shrimp
I told Jeff that if he listened closely, he might just hear him yelling jokes. We were on the sidewalk outside the Paramount Theatre in Seattle, where I had tickets to see the one and only Bill Burr—my favorite comedian and a bona fide bucket list item for me.
Comedy is one of my greatest passions, right up there with music. Specifically, stand-up comedy—which is kind of ironic if you think about it. (Get it? Because I can’t stand? It’s funny, right…anyone?) Humor is what keeps me going, which is pretty much the mission of this blog: sharing stories from my life and promoting the power of laughter.
I’d been counting down the days to this show since April of 2018 when I bought the tickets. But the real story began two months later in June when Jeff and I packed up the van and hit the road to Seattle. Our first stop was Wannock, BC for a quick lunch with my Aunt Bernice, who had gone all out by decorating her driveway with signage welcoming me and Jeff. Jeff was amazed with my aunt’s famous mac and cheese, a stark contrast to when Tora and I stopped by in 2024. (That story lives on in infamy as ‘The Nightmare of 605’—feel free to check it out, after you're done with this of course)
https://www.rollwiththepunches.blog/blog/nightmare-of-605
From there, we headed to Vancouver for an overnight stay at my friend Maeghan’s place. That evening, we met up with some friends at Kitsilano Beach where, to my delight, they had wheelchair-accessible mats leading right to the center of the beach. The group included Johnson, his wife Jennie, Amrit, Maeghan, Jeff, and most importantly, Amrit’s dog Hank(I know you probably think I was going to say me, but Hank is pretty special too). Now, I’d heard plenty about Hank but had never met him until that day. He’s a sweet old boy and is big, brown, and has patches of grey in his beard—a perfect match for Amrit, who’s also big, brown, and has patches of grey in his beard. It was like meeting a dog-human doppelgänger duo.
The next morning we were, as Willie Nelson so poetically put it, “on the road again.” Upon entering Seattle, Jeff insisted we detour to try what he claimed was the best sandwich in the world. Naturally, I was skeptical. “Sure, Jeff, I’m sure it’s great. But best in the world? Bold claim.” The food shack, located in the suburbs, a tiny place called Un Bien, didn’t exactly scream culinary masterpiece, with its single picnic table and bench on the side of the road. But then I took a bite of their signature sandwich, called The Press—a divine combination of roasted pork, banana peppers, smoked ham, and Swiss cheese melted together with a single brick placed on top pressing the sandwich onto the grill. That sandwich changed me. I’ll never be able to adequately articulate how good it was, and honestly, I know that my description of it to you isn't doing it any justice. I’m not sure it’s even possible. Some things, like true love and great sandwiches, transcend the English language.
After checking into our hotel, I slipped into a food coma that could’ve been classified as medically significant. The next morning, we set out to explore Seattle’s famed Pike Place Market because, well, you kind of have to. Jeff got to see the singing fish throwers in action—four employees tossing freshly caught fish to one another while belting out a jaunty sea shanty. I didn’t catch much of the action thanks to the wall of people in front of me, but the singing was cool though.
We wandered around the market, stopping at a hot sauce vendor with an impressive selection, including most of the sauces featured on the YouTube show ‘Hot Ones’, a show where the host interviews celebrities while they both indulge in progressively hotter hot wings. I bought one called ‘Da Bomb’. If you know you know. We also walked by a Starbucks and its lineup was around the block. This boggled my mind. Why would you waste your time in that line? Once you get in, it's just like any other Starbucks. The same boring baristas the same subpar coffee made with the same burnt coffee beans.
After walking and rolling around some more I told Jeff that I was getting a tad peckish, so we hunted down some food. We ended up in the fish market where I asked a vendor what kind of shrimp they had, their response was a list so long I thought for a minute I was listening to Bubba from Forrest Gump. I ended up choosing a cup of freshly caught shrimp. Who doesn't love a good ole Cup-O-Shrimp? The market was overcrowded and we thought it best to find a quiet spot to regroup and eat. The only quiet location that we found was right in the back corner beside a dumpster. I wish I had a photo of this, I searched everywhere, Jeff too and neither of us could find one. You can imagine how sad it must have looked, two grown-ass adults eating a Cup-O-Shrimp in a corner by the dumpster
Finally, it was showtime. We arrived at the Paramount Theatre just as Bill Burr was wrapping up his first set of the evening, which is when I told Jeff to listen for the jokes from outside. (See? Full circle.) I’d specifically bought tickets for the later show, thinking Bill might have more time to riff.
The theatre itself was breathtaking, with grand chandeliers, marble columns, and red velvet curtains. The acoustics were incredible, which was a blessing since my hearing isn’t what it used to be. Hearing Bill’s jokes felt like catching up with an old friend, especially since I recognized some bits from his Monday Morning Podcast. Making those connections, I remember thinking “Oh I remember when he first talked about this in the podcast.” I love getting to see how jokes are made. Watching him absolutely murder the audience was everything I’d hoped for—and more. I crossed him off my bucket list that night, only to add him right back on. Because let’s be honest: once is never enough.
