Not a Junkyard (Story Idea)

Another day, another bit—hopefully more than a bit’s wage. If your boss had their way they would pay you a bit a day. Lousy cheapskate. You work on your hooves all day, smile at all the rude ponies, and manage to keep your growing anger in check. The same thing keeps popping into your mind everyday at work: “Is it worth it?” Unfortunately, how today’s society revolves around capitalism, one must have bits to live.

As you wage an inner monologue on the evils of capitalism a bump brings you back to reality. The shuffling of hooves and bodies passing remind you to cross the street.

As far as days go you can not help but think this as one of the nicer days of summer noting the refreshing breeze that cools you from the summer afternoon heat. Living your whole life in the big city of Fillydelphia you grow to tolerate the bodies everywhere, the constant chatter of voices, the clatter of hooves, the rumble of wheels, and the towering buildings.

One such building beckons you forward. It lures you in with the promise of solitude and a cool bath. Maybe some leftover take out if memory holds true. Probably should buy some groceries. Tomorrow. What? Apples go on sale tomorrow. The fact that you are closer to your apartment than the grocery store does not even factor into your decision. Not in the slightest.

After a well deserving soak and finding a cupcake hidden behind the take out carton you curl up on the sofa and turn on the radio to listen to the latest drama story. Click. Nothing. Click. Click. Still nothing. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. A frown tugs down on your muzzle. Craning around the radio down to the floor you trace the cord to the power outlet to find the plug in the socket. A small huff leaves your nostrils as you get up from the sofa and trudge to your bed. Guess you just have to read a story from a book like some kind of plebeian.

Who reads in this day and age? When did you turn into the Princess of Friendship? Probably around the time your best friend had drug you to a book slash fan club of said Princess of Friendship. Thinking of that friend you wonder if they know somepony who can fix the radio. Since somepony—and we will not point any hooves (because the mirror is in the bathroom)—had decided to throw away the box to the radio which is where you had put the receipt.

Another day, another bit. Your best friend introduces you to their friend who had started working at a new repair shop. On the other side of town. The three of you take turns pulling the wagon with the radio to the repair shop. On the other side of town. In the middle of the afternoon. Why?

Why?

That is a good question. Then you remember your best friend is going out of town for the weekend tomorrow. It is not as if you do not trust your best friend’s friend, you just prefer the company of your best friend. Nothing about their friend’s all too wide smile and some what twitchy right eye puts you off.

You notice as the buildings begin to taper down and grow more distant between each other as you near the outskirts of the city. Rounding the corner you see at the end of the street a solitary white building in the middle of roughly a city block size of property. The property has a chain link fence keeping racks and shelves of metal inside the border. Wood of all shapes and sizes take up a sizable margin of property.

Walking along side the fence to the entrance you notice that the building is long enough to practically split the property in half. There is a sign above the gate entrance that reads “Recycling, Repairing, and Refurbishing Center”.

The three of you enter the building ignoring the “Closed” sign curtesy of the employee having a key. You wait in the lobby with your friend as their friend goes to get the boss. As you wait you keep yourself busy looking at the pictures in the lobby. A large picture in a golden frame hanging behind the counter catches your eyes.

In the photo are three mares: a pink earth pony with an equally pink, curly mane wielding a smile to rival all smiles, a white tricorn with a short, spiky crimson and black mane giving a smirk, and another white tricorn with long, straight pale yellow mane holding a neutral expression. You recognize the first two as Bearers of the Elements of Harmony. The third one walks up to you with the employee in tow.

“This is Moonflower Pie,” the employee introduces the tricorn to you. “She’s the boss and fixes all the stuff. Boss, this is the one with the broken radio I told you about.”

The tricorn’s steely, ice blue eyes gaze at you. She looks as if she is ready for a nap with her lids half close and slow blinks.

“Greetings.” Her voice one setting above whisper and as steely as her gaze greets you. She steps past you to stand next to the radio.

“Hello,” you return the greeting. You notice the distinct lack of cutie mark on her flank and quickly avert your gaze to see her pale blue magic scan the radio. Her eyes grow wide and return to their neutral state. Something wrenches in your gut. “Is it bad?”

“Very.”

You frown.

“Bad, as in, you can not get your money back from the manufacturer because it went bankrupt for the reason it is here.” She clarifies. “Very bad, as in, can not legally work on the radio since it is now technically hazardous waste.”

Big frown.

She walks away towards the counter. “You can pick out a radio from the showroom.” She begins taking out papers, quills and ink with her magic from behind the counter.

“Really? Thanks!” Today is turning out to be a good day.

The employee takes you and your friend to the showroom where you pick out a “refurbished” radio which looks as good as new for a quarter of the price. The employee talks you into checking out the other items for sale that grab your interest. By the time you are at the counter ready to confirm your purchase, the employee had given you a tour of the center and the different show rooms. You find yourself in awe at the inventory and how such a large place is maintaining as clean as it is.

As the employee writes up the bill of sale you can not help but to comment, “I’m surprised at how well kept this junkyard is.”

The employee’s pupils shrink to the size of pins. “Don’t say—“

“This is not a ‘junkyard’.”

The stiff and sudden voice behind you makes you jump. You had seen Moonflower return to the back of the building. How did she get behind you without a sound? A shiver shakes your spine not only from her icy glare but from the sudden chill in the air.

“Sorry,” you apologize quickly.

To your surprise the employee comes to your rescue. “Boss, not many ponies know of this place and what refurbish and recycle means. They see a bunch of metal around and they think it’s junk.”

“‘Junkyard’,” she huffs. She walks back to the employees only door and looks back at you. “‘Junkyard’.”

“Oh, boy. She’s gonna be in a foul mood for a while.” The employee says only after the door closes and a few minutes pass.

“I didn’t mean any offense.” you say.

“No worries.”

“‘Recycling, Repairing, and Refurbishing Center’ is quite the mouthful,” your friend pipes in.

You nod in agreement. “Should be something short and memorable.”

“Of course.”

The exclamation (?) behind you makes you jump again. You turn to see Moonflower’s eyes sparkling and the faintest sign of a smile at the ends of her muzzle. She ambles to the picture behind the counter.

She hangs her head down. “I bring shame and dishonor to my bloodline.”

“I doubt that. I’m sure they are very proud of you,” you say, trying to encourage her.

She looks up at the picture and places an ivory hoof on the frame. A slow grin spreads across her muzzle. “Yes. Yes, they are.”

Another day, another bit. You walk down the street having just left work. A sigh escapes your lungs. Slow days seem to drag on forever and the stifling heat saps any energy. A poster catches your eye as you near the corner of the building it rests on. The familiar ivory tricorn brings up a small smile.

“Broken wagon wheel? I will fix it. Broken radio? I will fix it. Broken appliance? Free pick up and delivery. Satisfaction guaranty! Guaranty lowest prices for the greatest quality!” You read. You release a short grunt of amusement as you read aloud, “‘Come to Fixer’s! I will fix it!’”