Recipe for Happiness

What woke me up next morning was my landlord. When he said that I could count on him to help me with everything I didn't think he meant, well, everything.

So when I opened the door with a hairdo worse than Shim Changmins spikes in early ’07 I was not surprised to find the pink dress clad man in front of me laughing, and in tears.

“I’m sorry, is there a problem?” I asked, dumbfounded. Alright, he had a reason to laugh but he had not any reasons (as far as I knew) to show up at my door at eight in the morning.

“Oh no, not at all!” he said cheerfully “I was just wanting to ask you if you had any work here in Seoul?”

Now this was interesting. Even though the image reel that went before my eyes pictured me cleaning toilets or frying eggs; I needed a job – and if he could offer me one then that would be more then welcome. I opened up my mouth to tell him that no, not yet, but that I was looking when..

“Because it’s really hard getting a job here. I wish I had one for you, but I don’t. Oh well, see you later!” and with that he skipped down the hall. Skipped.

Groaning a bit louder than I should have I walked back into my apartment, tripped in my slippers and fell flat on my face. I really need to work on my balance. Cursing under my breath I walked towards the bathroom and managed to squeeze myself into the too tiny shower and screamed and fell yet again when I turned the water on. It was colder than a countryside winter.

My landlord could wake me up at eight in the morning, but forget to tell me that there was NO HOT WATER. However, the water felt quite warm after a while. Must have been my fiery rage wearing off.

However at around nine thirty I was already roaming the streets of Seoul. Or, by roaming I mean trying to read a map and at the same time making sure I wasn't walking into anyone. I had already made one enemy for life, I did not need another one. After about an hour of walking around in the maze that is the main street; I found a nice looking coffee shop.
Now, I never really liked coffee, but I figured that when you're living in the city that never sleeps you should learn to at least tolerate the taste.

Walking into the shop I had to stop for a moment just to look. It was decorated like an old American diner, but the interior was in black leather and crème - and the counter was made out of mahogany, going around in a circle in the center of the room. It was even planted a big cherry blossom tree in the absolute center of the counter, and its branches making the prettiest pink roof I had ever seen. Reading the plate on the front of the counter I learned that the coffee shop was named Cherry and I couldn't help but wonder who was that rich that they could actually have the money to keep a tree (alive) inside of a building. or even build something so.. luxurious. I also couldn't help but wonder if the coffee tasted as good as the shop looked.

I snapped out of the daydream of me opening a place like this when the barista smiled at me. She was probably my age and she was the tiniest thing I'd ever seen. While making all these thoughts about her, the baristas smile had now turned into an annoyed glare causing me to blush.

"I'll have the house special" I muttered. Still embarrassed I watched as she skilfully made my coffee, handed it to me in a cup-to-go and I paid, bowed and smiled as a "thank you". But when I turned around, maybe a bit too quickly I once again lost my balance and stumbled in my own feet - spilling my freshly brewed coffee all over a white spot. Lifting my gaze, my jaw down to my knees I realized the "white spot" was actually a shirt - and it belonged to a now very very attractive man. A very attractive pissed off man.