The Part-Time Job

I wanted to be a barista. Pulling a perfect shot of espresso and bringing happiness to people with warm milk foam—that was my only dream. As soon as I returned to school, I studied like crazy and got my barista certification. While looking for the first stage to unfold my dream, I saw a job posting for 'Asterisk,' a new Instagram-hotspot cafe behind the university district. And I thought that place would be the stage for my dreams.

Cafe 'Asterisk'

An owner who built a perfect cafe at the young age of 29.

She always had a confident and dazzling smile along with the fragrant scent of coffee. On the day of the first interview, the owner, who was seriously reading through my certification and resume, looked me straight in the eye and said:

Your hands are incredibly fast, aren't they? You're hired.

Her refreshing voice made my heart beat wildly. I thought I could fulfill my dreams here. I imagined my future as her reliable partner, standing coolly in front of the espresso machine pulling shots.

However, reality turned out completely different from my expectations.

The Beginning

Desserts and brunch are the core revenue for cafes these days. So, 'you' make the food with those delicate hands!

That's what the owner said while handing me an apron on my first day of work. I was overwhelmed by her firm and rational business mind. As expected of a successful owner, the scale of her thinking was different. She was reading the trends accurately. I was impressed and wanted to live up to her trust.

Yes, Boss! I'll work hard!

It was great back then, right when I shouted that and tied the apron strings.

Since that day...

Wait, I definitely came here for coffee and drinks... What was held in my hand wasn't a portafilter or a pitcher, but a frying pan spatula. What was in front of me wasn't an espresso machine or a dripper table, but a grill and a cutting board. Why...?

The Owner Makes Drinks, I Make Food!

Clearly, my apron says 'BARISTA,' but all day long I'm making sandwiches, toasting bread, and boiling pasta noodles. Whenever I even try to sneak near the coffee machine, the owner notices like a hawk and stops me.

Don't hang around there, get back to the kitchen! That's your role, isn't it?

At her sharp correction, I have no choice but to tuck my tail and return to the kitchen every time. With a sigh, I go back to the cutting board and the grill.

>> I got my barista license for the coffee!!
>
> That cry of mine reached no one.