TMP Prompt #113 - “Nice Work If You Can Get It”
Prompt: Tell the story of how Smart Cookie became Chancellor Puddinghead’s secretary.
-
“Nice Work If You Can Get It”
“What am I going to dooo!” Chancellor Puddinghead wailed, flailing about on the floor.
The janitor rolled her eyes and cleaned around her leader’s temper tantrum, straightening a pile of papers she’d kicked over in her rage.
A wadded-up ball of paper whacked her in the back of the head.
“What am I going to doooooooo!?”
“Okay, fine! What is it?”
“What do you do?”
She blinked at the non-sequitur question. “Ah‘m a janitor.”
“Janitor. That’s a funny word! Jjjjaaaniiitooorrrr. Jan—”
“Is there a point ta this? Ah got things ta do.”
“I demand that you help me, Janitor!”
“Ah have a name, ya know.”
“You do?”
“Most everypony does. Smart Cookie.”
“Thanks, I am pretty clever.”
“Ah hate introducin‘ myself. Look, what‘s th‘ trouble?”
“This!“ The Chancellor gestured to the scattered papers on the floor. “This!” She pointed at the line of angry ponies outside her door. “And this!” She pointed at a half-eaten donut on her desk.
“Huh?”
“It doesn‘t have sprinkles! What is this, the Dark Ages?”
“More or less.”
“Nopony told me being a Chancellor would be so hard!” Puddinghead whined. “Why can’t there be someone who can handle my paperwork and my appointments and my fifth lunch?”
“Sounds like ya need a secretary.”
“Sec…ra…tary…Ssssseeeeccccraaaaa—”
“Yes! A secretary!”
“Is that somepony who tells me what to do so I can do it?”
“That‘s an advisor.”
“Is it somepony who does everything I tell them to without questioning me?”
“No, that‘s a lackey.”
“Can‘t they all be the same pony?”
“Oof. Ah don‘t envy them.”
“Where can I get a sedimentary?”
“Sec-re-tary.”
“Are you a sumo dictionary?”
“No. Ah‘m a janitor.”
“How does someone become a janitor?”
“Well, someone gets an art degree, and everypony but her suddenly decides electing somepony named Puddin‘head’s a good idea, an‘ then—”
“I don‘t care! Listen, I need a skeleton-dairy.”
“Are you even tryin’ anymore?” Cookie asked. “Wait, no. Ah see where this is goin’.”
“You do?” The Chancellor gasped. “We’re on the same wavelength!”
“You can say ‘wavelength’, but not ‘secretary’?”
“You have the privilege of being on the same wavelength as me! Me! Don‘t you feel honored?”
“Well, m‘Ma always said t‘take compliments with the spirit in which they were intended…so no, not really.”
“I need a Sagramore and you know what one is, so as Chancellor I declare you my secondary!”
“Uh, no. No, no, no, no no. Also, NO.”
“Don’t you want to?
“Ah’d love to, but Ah’ve got toilets to muck out. Later.”
“No! I order you to stay and be my—”
“Babysitter.”
“Segmentary!”
“No thank you. Ah got better things ta do than look after you.”
“Pleeeeease? Pleeeeeeease?”
“Puddin’head, there ain’t no way no how, by Tartarus an’ th’ Elysian Fields, by Valhalla an’ by Hel, By ‘Lest, by ‘Lune, by Nightmare Moon, that I will ever, ever be your secretary! Ya got me?”
“Silly filly, you’re already my secretary because I say so.” She patted Cookie on the head. “Now, how much money do sickle-bunnies make?”
“AH JUST SAID—wait, what?”
“How much do sectionaries make? Not as much as Chancellors, I‘m sure.”
Cookie stared at the Chancellor, who smiled back with the innocence born of blissful stupidity. Would it be just and moral for her to take advantage of this naif? This babe in the woods? This total idiot?
…
Well, her ma didn’t name her Smart Cookie ‘cause she wanted her to be a baker.