(Copyright Disclaimer: The above image does not belong to me)
~~~~~~~~~~
A week later, things are almost back to how they were. The classes start again next week, and so, unlike what I said I was going to do, I've been working as many shift possible, covering the ones I missed from the exam period and doing a few extras in case the new semester keeps me busier than usual.
So here I am, calling manager Unnie from 'Bora coffee shop' asking for any available shift I can take.
"Is there really no more empty slots for morning to afternoon shift?"
"No, Y/n, sadly, everyone is healthy and can come to work."
"Maybe you can take a break and I can work your shift. You've been working hard, Unnie."
"Aigoo, this one. Don't you think you're turning into a workaholic these days?"
"Not really."
"Are you sure? Did you or did you not call the manager at the convenience store too to ask for extra shifts?" Shit. She got me. "See!" she laughs again.
"No no, I'm not a workaholic. It's just some kind of shift-savings so that I can be a bit more relaxed once the semester starts again. Besides—" I grab the side of my neck, wondering how to phrase my thoughts.
"Yes?"
"Does the shop have a policy regarding its staff members' hairstyle or colour?"
She pauses for a moment. I picture her staring at the ceiling remembering the entire guideline, though I'm sure that's not what she's doing. After all, she doesn't need to do that. She memorised it by heart. "I don't think so. As long as it doesn't bother or intimidate the customer, I guess that's alright."
"Wow, that's— Very vague."
"I know right. But that's a good thing. More freedom for everyone. What hair can intimidate people anyway? A meter-high mohawk? And I don't think many people are even brave enough to pull off a mohawk or an extreme mullet. Maybe subtle ones, but subtle won't scare people away," she says. "It might even attract more people. Now that I think about it, Y/n, why don't you get an eye-catching hairstyle? Maybe that can raise our sales."
"Don't ever mention that in front of Hunnie. Don't plant any strange seed in her mysterious brain. I'm gonna be her hair model next week and she might just do that," I sigh. Her snickers are muffled through the phone.
"If you show up with some sort of weird hairstyles, I'll consider giving you one of my shifts."
"So that's your price."
"Of course it should require that much determination. After all, it's my precious shift."
"Unnie."
"Yes, Y/n?"
"I lost."
"I'll see you tomorrow! At the usual time and not earlier," she chirps before cutting the line.
~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, I wake up at six. I'm deeply compelled to immediately change and walk towards the coffee shop but I realise that I can't do that. Not because I'm incapable of doing so, more like I'm not 'allowed'. At the usual time and not earlier, manager unnie said yesterday. So in the morning, I take things slow. I sip my cup of coffee instead of downing them like there's no tomorrow. I even took the time to to take care of my toenails and clip them nicely, making sure they're not disgusting, even though no one will ever see them because all I wear are shoes. Yet, I still do it out of boredom.
When I get out of the shower, it's only six-thirty. With plenty of time to spare, I sit around the short tea table and read up some general knowledge on any topic I can think of while waiting for my hair to dry. Today, it's biology, more specifically, medical science. Did you know that sometimes, a person could get a fever from stress? It's called a psychogenic fever, also known as emotional fever, and according to Takakazu Oka, it is treated with psychotropic drugs instead of a regular fever medication. It also has different symptoms in people. Some develop "extreme high core body temperature" according to Oka, while some show "persistent low-grade high [core body temperature]."(1)
"No! Not enough time!" Hunnie mumbles in her sleep, interrupting my imaginary emergency. "The lightener won't have enough time!"
She's probably really nervous since her exams will be held next week, moreover in front of big-shots like that guy with the golden Mohawk whose face is posted in a huge billboard in Gangnam. She's so cute. I can understand why someone would be nervous about that, but I don't think there's a proper reason for her to get that nervous. I've seen what she does on all her wigs and sketches. She'll be fine.
"Y/n! Your hair!" she shouts. My head snaps towards her. My hair? "I'm so sorry, I picked up the wrong volume and now your hair is melting." Wait, what? "I think I can glue them back on and no one will notice, it'll be fine!" she then suddenly stops mumbling and the room goes quiet again. Just what is she doing to me in her sleep? What will she do to me in real life? I feel like I'm heating up. Is it possible that I'm getting a psychogenic fever?
~~~~~~~~~~
I show up at seven-thirty and, as usual, manager Unnie has already started the opening preparations.
"Unnie, among us, I think you're the workaholic."
"It's called being dedicated."
"I'm also just dedicated!"
"Dedicated is doing one's job whole-heartedly. Being a workaholic is trying to take other people's shifts cause you like to work so much."
"I don't absolutely love working."
"Then why are you constantly working, unless it's to pay your bills. Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"What? No, no. I'm fine and I have spares every month even after the bills."
"Then why do you work yourself this much?" she asks. I don't say anything. After all, I don't know the answer to it myself.
***
Our conversation is forced to a stop due to the sudden wave of customers entering the premise. There are two big groups. The first group consists of formal-attired workers with their suitcases, and the second appears to be a family or perhaps a group of close friends. Both groups decide to have their order in. The group with the formal attire sits at the long rectangular table, working with their laptop and papers that are most probably related to whatever project they are working on. The other is seated at a circular table on the sofa area at the other end of the coffee shop. Getting their order ready takes a while, after all, they are large in number and they order all at once. It keeps us occupied enough until the next customer arrives. Then the next. And the next after that.
At twelve, things have finally calmed down. Everyone left except for a man who is sipping on his cup of hot latte in relief with his adorable toddler by his side after what he described as 'just another tiring park-play-date'
The door opens, revealing a cheery familiar customer – whom I refer to as the smiley cake guy. It's been a while since I last saw him and he looks as friendly as ever, so consistent.
The smiley customer doesn't come alone today. Tagging along is another adorable-looking person who, if I don't know any better, I would assume to be a model. He certainly dresses like one.
"Welcome back," I smile. "What would you like today, J-Hope-ssi?"
"Call me Hobi."
I clear my throat. "What would you like today Hobi-ssi?" He displays his dimple smile.
"Which one do you recommend? The Chocolate shake or the Vanilla coffee shake?"
"I personally like coffee so I would get the Vanilla coffee shake with an extra shot since the Vanilla is quite sweet. But among the two of them, most people tend to like the chocolate shake more."
His mouth turns into a cute little pout while his pupils stare at the ceiling. He looks like a thinking cartoon character. Adorable. After a few seconds, with his eyebrows still thoughtfully scrunched together, he abruptly turns to his companion who looks back at him in surprise due to the suddenness in his motion. "Jimin-ah, what are you getting?"
"I don't really know, they both look good."
"Okay!" he exclaims then turns to me. I see that a decision has been made. "We'll get one of each and— which cake has that little pieces of orange?"
"That would be the orange fresh cream cake."
"I'll have a slice of that too."
"Sure thing. Eat-in or take away?"
"In, please."
I type in the orders and read out the total. Hobi-ssi pays for both of them with his card. "Coming right up!"
***
They sit on one of the corners of the room near the window where the sunlight falls gently on the table. They both sit facing in, and Hobi-ssi places a gentle hand on the back of Jimin-ssi's neck, smiling. The sun illuminating their back. What a pretty picture.
"Drink this. Want Hyung to buy you a cake?"
"No, I'm fine, Hyung."
"Come on, drink it. You'll feel better," Hobi-ssi slides the vanilla coffee shake towards Jimin-ssi's side of the table. Jimin-ssi takes a little sip. "How is it?"
"Really yummy. You should try it too," he says quietly before sliding the shake back to Hobi-ssi.
He takes one sip and his eyes light up. "You're right, this is great!" Hobi-ssi laughs looking at the shake in his hand with admiration. "Want more, Jimin-ah?"
Jimin-ssi doesn't reply. His head dangles limply on his neck. He looks at the floor, lost in thought.
"Jiminie?" Hobi-ssi calls him again.
This time, he snaps awake and returns to reality. "Ah, yeah?"
Hobi-ssi looks at him with a sad pout. "Ignore that person. Jimin-ah. Sometimes people hate just because they want to hate."
"I know that but— My head knows it but—"
"But your heart is not convinced?" Hobi-ssi asks. He nods.
"When was that clip from?"
"That 'Fake Love' performance from the 2018 MGA."
"And how long ago was that?"
"Around a year. My heart still aches whenever I think about it."
"Do you think you sound good yesterday?"
"Well, no. I was only playing around."
"That's the point. I think you sounded amazing yesterday and you're saying that that was what you called playing around."
"But that wasn't very good."
"Ah, I know what this is. It's not that your voice is not improving, but your ears are sharper now. You notice things you probably won't pick up before. You're growing as an artist, Jimin-ah. So don't look down on yourself like that."
"I'm trying. But it's hard."
"I know. It's okay. You can take as much time as you need. Even if you think you suck, you should at least remember that there are at least six people that admire you and love your voice."
By the time I realize that I've been listening in on a private conversation, I have served two or three customers their coffee to go. It seems that my body was working on autopilot. Good. Maybe I finally absorbed some of Hunnie's multi-tasking skills via osmosis.
I honestly didn't expect self-consciousness out of Jimin-ssi or rather out of anyone in Bangtan. I've always thought that they're so insanely skilled that any problems they have wouldn't have anything to do with their crafts. Now, I know that I'm wrong. It's wrong of me to assume things or have certain expectations, to begin with. Bad habit, go away.
I wonder if many masters of their crafts also experience that even when they're at the top. Now that I know it's possible, I believe that many of them have probably felt something like that at at least a single point in their life. It's very possible. Most of them are perfectionists who would not stop at anything less than perfect. They're masters for a reason. In search of perfection, no matter how great one is, there's always a tendency to see the imperfection in oneself.
Sometimes I hope that that is the case for me, that there is more to me than what I can see of me. I don't know if I'll ever find out whether there is actually something more to me. After all, life doesn't always go according to plan and that's okay. I'm pretty sure there are ordinary people out there that have the potential to be noble prize winners, but they never figured it out. If that's the case for me, I'm okay with it. I just can't help but wonder how would it feel to live knowing you're perfectly suited for something and you love doing it.
I sigh, clenching my fist. This is what happens when I'm left alone in my own head for too long. I need Hunnie to drag me out of it, to imbue me with a little speck of optimism. However, this time around, I might be the one who needs to give her some optimism. I trust that she'll pass with flying colours but I don't know if she knows that she's capable of that. I guess I'll need to make sure she knows it herself.
~~~~~~~~~~
Hobi-ssi and Jimin-ssi stayed for an hour before leaving, and they leave around the time my shift ends. I'm hoping manager Unnie wouldn't notice if I stay for a few minutes longer. Hope. But that doesn't happen. She catches on quick and she makes me go to the staffroom to get ready to go home.
After I finish changing and packing my stuff, my phone vibrates. Hunnie. I pick it up.
"Hey, you're done with your shift?" she chimes.
"Yeap."
"And you have no evening shift today, correct?"
"Yeap," I sigh.
"Stop that," she huffs. "You're really turning into a workaholic lately."
"Like you can say that to me," I laugh.
"Styling hair is not a job. It's a game. It's a hobby. Getting yelled at by a grandma while working the cashier is a job."
"Wow, you're still salty about that? I thought you released it all at the Great Shout-out."
"I thought I did. Maybe the stress is bringing the memory back. Oh right, you're free right?" She gets easily swayed then switches back on track. I laugh.
I hum in response.
"Do you mind coming with me?"
"Sure, where and when?"
"To the wig place in Myeongdong in an hour."
"The one in the same building as that hidden guesthouse?"
"That's the one."
"Cool."
"Wait. Actually—" Hunnie pauses for a moment. "Can we go to that place in front of that really modern looking museum? I forgot that I was supposed to pick up the developers that I ordered. After that, then we can go to wig place since they open till late."
"Sure." I shrug though knowing she can't see me. "I wait at your school then? I got time to kill today."
"Love you~" she draws out. I smile. I know I'm the one who should give her an extra shot of optimism, but before I get to give her the injection, she takes her own shot and jabs it in my arm. I lost. She beats me to it.
"Keep being you," I smile.
"What's that about?"
"Nothing. Love you too. Hunnie Fighting!"
"Fighting!" She exclaims.
End Notes:
(1) Takakazu Oka, "Psychogenic Fever: How Psychological Stress Affects Body Temperature In The Clinical Population", Temperature, 2.3 (2015), 368-378 <https://doi.org/10.1080/23328940.2015.1056907>.