#cafe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arrloww · 18 hours

Text

Café Oasis

Masterlist

In where you apply for a job at a café. Café Oasis, although everyone calls it Café 141, due the number of military things in the café, and the army cadets that wonder into the café on their downtown.

SERIES CONTENT WARNING: xreader, Swearing, Sexual innuendos, fucked up sense of humor, Baking inaccuracies, military inaccuracies, Smut?

If there is anything I missed, please let me know :)

Word Count: 1.9K

The small whir of your laptops fan sends you a small reminder that you need to get a new laptop. Having this one since you were in Uni. Clicking the link, it takes you to an application form. Typing in your information, some of your keys getting stuck and causing you to retype words much to your annoyance.

The tap of your keys is drowned out by the music you have playing, swaying your head to the music and shoulders moving to the beat. You finish the application and close the tab, you get up from the lounge you were sitting on, walking to the kitchen a few steps away. The cold floor sends shivers up your legs and arms, but when you near the baking sweets it doesn’t matter, the warmth that surrounds your small kitchen when you open the door to the oven.

Placing the sweets on top of the stove and pulling a cooling rack from a cupboard underneath the bench to your left, you set them to cool, and netting thing over it to keep flies off it.

Things like this were normal when you weren’t working at your corner store shop before, but now that you quit, you had more time to bake but not enough money to fund it.

Sighing, you finished up what you had to do, then you head to bed.

The day was a bright day, but with a cold wind. Dressing in something warm, but you could always take something off, in case you got too warm. You lock the door behind you, placing your keys in your pocket, and roaming down the stairs of your apartment block.

From your pocket, you unlocked your car, shivering and turning on the car. You blast the heat before pulling out of your parking space, heading towards the markets. Sundays were market days, you enjoyed wondering and buying cute stuff, or if there was anything you needed, sometimes it was cheaper than buying them at a store.

The smells of a beautiful Lavender soap bar filled your sense as you stepped into the market. The closest stall to your left was a cute little cottage core style with the main table painted a light baby blue, small bubbles painted on it.

You roam over to the stall, taking your time to look through and smell the soaps. You occasionally took a smell of a coffee jar to make sure all the smells didn’t muddle together.

The next stall was a small station of crocheted items of clothing, alongside wool. The wools and fabrics were soft and in a large range of colour and gradient, softness, and texture. Feeling the different wools and fabrics you tense up at a certain texture, saying a bye before walking away rubbing the tips of your fingers to the palm of your hand. You did NOT like that texture.

An hour later you had two bags filled with things, diamond dots to do while you watch criminal minds, couple books that were on sale, cooking ingredients, etc.

It wasn’t until you got to your car, placing the bags on the passenger side floor. It was cold in your car, but hot while you were walking outside, you decided to take off your outerwear, turning the heat up, your fingers and nose copping the worse of the cold. Your phone rang, a number you didn’t recognize, but you picked it up anyways. Could be one of the twelve jobs you applied for.

Picking up the call, and making sure it wasn’t connected to the speakers, you hear a lady’s voice on the other end. “Hello?” She asked for your name.

“I saw your application this morning and I wanted to see if you could come in today? If you can’t today, that’s alright too.” Her voice was nice and calm, sweet sounding too. You told the lady you could, and what time she wanted you around.

“Anytime today, lunchtime maybe?” Her voice sounded distant for a second like she was turned away rom the phone. “And just ask for Laswell. Hope to see you soon.”

You say a quick thank you and goodbye. Taking a sip from a milkshake you got, you buckled up and set GPS to café 141, driving out of the car park. The café was popular, but on a Wednesday lunchtime, it shouldn’t be too busy, you hoped. The traffic was a bit annoying, people coming out of work for lunch breaks, or some going home from a late-night shift or early morning one. Turning left, you started playing some music, driving home to pick up your folder of work interview things. Changing clothes, into something warm but interview worthy.

When you went into the bathroom to fix up, you walked out of your house at 11:30am, the interview around 12:00pm. You had to be early. If you’re on time, you’re late. That’s what you told yourself when you moved out on your own.

The doors lock clicked, and you continued to your car, then to the café.

Walking into the café, there was people here and there. Some college kids in a group, on laptops and making occasional conversations. On the other side there was older guys, almost scary looking, if they did have massive smiles on their faces and loud laughing.

Stomach grumbling, you wonder into the line. Ordering a Raspberry Crumble, you ask to see Laswell as you paid. The worker at the cash register, a young girl who still seems to be in school nods, her ponytail bobbing as she does. She turns and makes her way into the kitchen and makes a turn out of sight. A couple seconds later, a blonde woman walks out, dark dress pants and a dark grey button down.

She motions you around to her side of the register, to follow her.

Following the woman, Kate Laswell, into her office she sits you down, allowing you to eat your piece of crumble ass she explains what the job position will ask of you in more detail, and ask you more questions.

“Are you sure if I can eat? I don’t want to seem unprofessional…” You trail off, a tad bit anxious.

‘Maybe it’s a ploy? To get you to eat, just so you seem unprofessional, them they will tell everyone around that hiring to not hire you and that you won’t be able to get a job and youll be kicked from your apartmentand thenyoullhavetomovebackkinwithyourparents’ Shifting and continuing to not eat the crumble slice that is still in a brown paper bag.

Kate laughs, not a loud laugh like the men on the table to your left as you walk in, but a little closed mouth chuckle. Her blue eyes crinkling around the edges. Almost mother-like, in some of mannerisms, Kate gestures to the paper bag, and stands to reach and get a snack of her own.

“I am quite hungry myself, ready to start? And do you have everything?” She bites into a blueberry muffin, small crumbs falling to the plate she had sitting underneath it.

Nodding and bringing out the folder, you hold a quarter of the raspberry crumble in the paper bag taking a bite. Swallowing, you open the folder to give her another copy of your resume.

She looks through it, nodding with an unreadable expression on her face. “Do you have any licenses and certificates from school?” As she traces a finger on the schooling area of your resume, “And maybe a cover letter, if you have one written?”

Placing the crumble down and sifting through the folder for certification for the cooking classes you did in university, and your wallet as well to get your driver’s license. Not forgetting the cover letter, you wrote.

There more gruelling silence, the only sound is very soft rustling from the paper bag, and voice from behind the door to the kitchen. You tap your fingers against your thigh, looking at your nails, the wall, the window, admiring her office as Kate reads through everything.

She scares the living shit out of you as she suddenly speaks up. “Looks good so far! Now, the position, it’s not guaranteed but we will give you more information anyways. So, your role will be baking, so you’ll be spending a lot of time on your feet and in early hours. Do you have any disabilities that will stop you from being on your feet for long periods?” Pulling a notebook from a drawer in her desk. Shaking your head, you say no.

“Okay, uhm what next?” Tapping her pen against the notebook. “Are you able to work in loud environment? Are you able to work with others?” You answer.

“I have no problem with a loud environment, I’m quite used to it from working in the corner store. And I was a manager at the corner store, Hop’s.” She writes your answer in her notebook.

“What do you think of music while you work?” She looks up at you, raising an eyebrow. You give a small sheepish smile.

“I quite prefer working with music, but I can without too. “

“One of the last questions before we move on, Are you comfortable working around men? We have a few men working here, they are good men. But I would like to hear your opinion.”

Your quiet for a moment thinking it over, weighing pros and cons. “I don’t mind, it should matter who works with me as long as we get along and do our jobs.” Kate smile at that, the corner of her eyes crinkling again.

“Last question, promise” She chuckles softly, “What are your available hours?”

You sit straighter in the seemingly soft chair, “Everyday ma’am. I was going to ask if a full-time position was available?” You didn’t want to come off to strong, but you had to ask, rent was going up, and things needed to be replaced, you needed money to live off. Tapping your thumbs together you await her response.

“If you get the job, I could arrange that, but I do have another three interviews today.” She stands, you follow suit thanking her for interviewing you and that you hope to hear from her soon.

As you walk out, you spot a small group of men behind the counter. They’re laughing together and hanging around the barista area. Some people have left, and the line is now gone.

Throat parched, going up to the counter and waiting for the men to finish talking, not wanting to be rude.

The one to spot you is a tall fluffy blonde-haired man, with a simple black surgical mask covering his face. “Sorry abou’ that, didn’t see you ther’, what can I get ya’?” He has a thick accent, not surprised you weren’t from England. Waving of the apology shyly, not one to bother people, you quickly order a vanilla latte, iced, one shot. The tall guy made it quickly, shooting quips back and forth between his co-workers. Paying and taking the drink, you say thank you and make your way out of the café.

You’re grateful for the cold car, unlike last time. You take off your outwear, feeling yourself start to sweat. Hands getting clammy, and unable to sit still, you hear the click of your seatbelt, autopilot getting you ready to drive. Plugging the keys in and stopping to play music, you check your blinds spots and tug the gearstick into first.