//------------------------------// // Story 8: Business as Unusual // Story: Mountie Python's Flying Circus // by Locomotion //------------------------------// Nitrous Cannister was a perfectly respectable stallion working a perfectly respectable office job in a perfectly respectable area of Chicolto, under a perfectly respectable manager, and with a perfectly respectable home and a perfectly respectable family to boot. His was a perfectly respectable lifestyle all told, and he always made sure his appearance was perfectly respectable too – but there was one small detail that constantly bothered him. Whether he was born with it, or whether some strange genetic mutation had occurred to him later in life, he couldn't seem to work out; all he knew was that he seemed to emit some kind of pheromone that had a very odd effect on all except those closest to him... It was a cold, damp day in Chicolto, and Nitrous was making his way to work. It had started out like any other – indeed, just as it did with any other family stallion. Having finished his breakfast, he collected his briefcase, kissed his wife goodbye and began picking his way down the street towards the office building where he worked. But that, of course, where his day always became very abnormal, something he was very cruelly reminded of as he passed two stallions headed in the opposite direction. “Good morning,” he said casually. But instead of returning the greeting, both stallions suddenly burst out laughing uncontrollably. Nitrous frowned and shook his head; this was always happening to him, and he could never fully understand why. It wasn't just these two ponies either. Upon entering the building ten minutes later, he attempted to greet the receptionist, “Quite a nasty day out there, eh?” The mare at the desk barely opened her mouth to reply before breaking down into a fit of the giggles herself; and when he entered the elevator with a small group of fellow workers, the doors hadn't even closed before they too collapsed into hysterics. Nitrous shrugged it off each time, trying not to look offended, but the laughter was getting increasingly hard to ignore, and he felt all the more hurt by it. He left the elevator, and the other occupants clutching their aching guts as they continued to laugh helplessly, and made his way to the manager's office. As expected, the manager had already turned up, and was trying hard to keep a straight face as he awaited Nitrous' arrival. Normally, he was very calm and professional, but just like the other ponies working under him, that facade always seemed to break down when Nitrous was in his presence. Upon hearing the knock at the door, he promptly called out, “Come in, Mr Cannister.” “Good morning, sir,” said Nitrous as he entered. To his complete lack of surprise, the manager spluttered a little in a heroic act of self-restraint. “Do, uh...do sit down.” “Thank you, sir.” Nitrous took his seat, silently wondering why his boss should call him up to the office – although from the way he was behaving, he had a worrying hunch as to what it could be. The manager fought back another snigger before continuing. “Now, as you know, Mr Cannister, you've been working in our Accounts Department for the past twenty years, all without the slightest blemish on your service record.” Nitrous opened his mouth to thank him, but was promptly interrupted; “No, no, please don't say anything – as I was saying, your work has been beyond reproach,” he went on, his voice breaking a little as he almost lost his composure. “However, the effect you're having on your colleagues has undermined...the competence...” Nitrous frowned anxiously. He had a bad idea where this was leading, and the tone of the manager's voice didn't exactly fill him with any confidence either. “...has undermined the competence your colleagues to such an extent that I'm afraid I have no option...” With a concerted effort, he choked back yet another laugh. “...but to transfer you to a different role,” he finished in as grave a manner as he could. “I...I'm sorry to hear that, sir,” said Nitrous, visibly dejected. “I'd been hoping I'd be able to keep this job a while longer, what with the rising cost of the wife's treatment...I'm struggling to find the money as it is, and now I don't see any kind of future...” He almost broke down into tears at this point. “...I just...want to go out and end it all.” After a surprisingly brief fit of giggles, the manager turned back to him. “No, I-I-I didn't say I was going to sack you,” he managed to choke out. “It's just that...well, I do know another department that requires...” Yet another splutter. “...requires a new manager, and in light of your financial problems, I'm...I'm offering you a job interview for that new role.” He slid a note towards Nitrous, covering his mouth to hide the helpless grin. “That's where the interview is taking place, and the interviewer...” Another voice break. “...has been found to be immune to your...effect, let's say.” Nitrous perked up at once. “Oh, thank you, sir!” he said, grabbing the note and trotting out of the office without hesitation. The manager completely lost control of himself at that moment and began rolling on the floor with laughter. It wouldn't be for some time that another employee would enter and find him passed out over his desk with a broad smile still plastered on his face! To his surprise and relief, Nitrous found that once he reached the department in question, other ponies seemed to stop laughing at him. Why, he couldn't comprehend, but it made such a big change that he couldn't care less. He knocked briskly at the door of the office to which he had been directed, and was immediately greeted with a genial, “Come in.” As he entered, he saw a pale green stallion in a blue business suit waiting for him. “Ah,” said the stallion, “you must be the pony recommended for the management training course. Do sit down.” Nitrous did as he was told, but somehow he felt a hint of nervousness creep in at that point. He wanted to make sure he could still hold a job here, and worried about giving an answer that would see him laid off. “Would you mind just standing up again for one moment?” Again, Nitrous obeyed without question. “Take a seat.” “What?” asked Nitrous, taken aback. “Take a seat,” repeated the interviewer. With a faint, uneasy shrug, Nitrous sat back down as the interviewer wrote something down on a clipboard. Finally, he looked up to Nitrous again and greeted him with, “Good morning.” “Good morning,” replied Nitrous. “Good morning,” said the interviewer again, almost as if Nitrous had missed something. “Good morning.” The interviewer paused for a moment to write something else down. “Tell me, sir,” he spoke up at last, “why did you say 'good morning' when you know perfectly well it's afternoon?” “Uh...well, you said 'good morning',” stammered Nitrous. A smug, knowing grin spread across the other pony's face as he shook his head. “Good afternoon,” he corrected. “Good afternoon,” said Nitrous hesitantly. In truth, he could see from the wall-mounted clock that it wasn't afternoon yet, but he went along with it all the same. “Oh, deary me.” The stallion added to his notes with a look of mock dismay. “Good evening,” he added. “Um...goodbye?” offered Nitrous, now absolutely lost. The interviewer chuckled, not the rolling with laughter kind of chuckle, but still enough to make Nitrous feel uncomfortable. To Nitrous' utter bafflement, he then reached out with his magic and began ringing a small bell sitting on his desk. There was a long silence. “Aren't you going to ask me why I rang the bell?” prompted the interviewer. Nitrous glanced at the bell, and then back towards the interviewer. “Why did you ring the bell?” he asked timidly. “Why do you think I rang the bell?” The stallion waited, but only for a second before barking at the spineless nitwit in front of him, “Five, four, three, two, one, zero!” “Well, because...” “Too late!” Nitrous looked down at his hooves. This job interview seemed a lot harder – more random, even – than any other he had so far been to; but then he had only been to the one, and they'd given him the job in an instant, so he didn't have much to go on. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the ringing of the bell; and this time, the interviewer was joining in. “Good night a-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!” he sang in an obnoxious tone. “Ah, good night a-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!” “Um...I'm sorry,” interrupted Nitrous tentatively, “this is the interview for the management training course, isn't it?” “Yes, this is the interview for the management training course, that's right,” affirmed the stallion, and immediately went back to ringing the bell. “Good night a-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!” “Oh dear,” murmured Nitrous, now starting to look freaked out, “I don't think I'm doing very well.” “Why do you say that?” “Well...I don't know.” “Do you say it because you don't know?” The interviewer barely gave the stuttering Nitrous a chance to think, let alone reply, before belting out another round of, “Five, four, three, two, one, zero!” Another pause followed as he wrote still further on his clipboard; but when he straightened up again, it wasn't to ask another question. Instead, he just pulled a face and made a comical gargling sound. But Nitrous failed to see any humour in what was going on. “I...I'm sorry, I'm confused,” he said meekly. “Well, why do you think I did that, then?” “I-I-I don't know.” “Aren't you curious?” “Yes.” But perhaps “curious” wasn't the right word, thought Nitrous. “Unnerved” would probably be more accurate! “Then why don't you ask me?” Again, Nitrous didn't get a chance to reply before... “Name?” “What?” “Your name, please?” requested the interviewer. “Oh, uh...Nitrous.” “Nitrous...” The interviewer pulled out a pen. “Sure?” “Yes.” “Nitrous...Sure,” said the interviewer as he began to write. “No, no, no, no, Cannister!” “Cannister Sure.” “No, no, Nitrous Cannister!” The interviewer shot Nitrous a look of reproach as if he had just misbehaved, and for a moment, Nitrous worried about getting kicked out of the office. “Good night a-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!” The bell rang out again tantalisingly. “Good night a-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!” Nitrous cringed. “Oh dear, we're back to that again,” he muttered to himself; then, to the interviewer, “I don't know what to do when you do that.” “Well, do something,” goaded the interviewer, and rang his bell for the umpteenth time. “Good night a-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! Five, four, three, two, one...” In a blind panic, Nitrous raised his hooves to his temples and let out a comical squawking noise, pulling an equally comical face in the process. “Good!” “Good?” repeated Nitrous, perking up a bit. “Very good. Do that again.” The interviewer looked on intently as Nitrous repeated his previous actions. “Very good indeed,” he remarked, sounding genuinely impressed. “Quite outstanding.” He turned to another door which had somehow escaped Nitrous' notice; “Right, ready now!” Right on cue, four mares entered and took up positions either side of the interviewer; what they were doing here, Nitrous couldn't comprehend, but from the serious looks on their faces, he could only assume they must have something to do with the interviewing process. “Right, once more.” The interviewer picked up his bell one last time, “Good night a-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding,” and pointed towards Nitrous, who again followed the same actions as before – hooves on temples, funny face, squawk. To Nitrous' complete and utter confusion, the mares pulled out a series of cards with numbers on them, the interviewer taking note of each one. “What's going on?!” he demanded, completely forgetting to be nervous in his indignation. “You've got good marks,” explained the interviewer. “I don't care, I want to know what's going on!” ranted Nitrous. “I think you're deliberately trying to humiliate other creatures for your own amusement as if they were nothing more than circus animals, and I'm going straight out of here, and I'm going to tell the police exactly what you do to others, and I'm going to get them to tell Princess Celestia herself, and I'm going to make jolly well sure you never get a chance to do it again! THERE! WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT, EH?! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO SAY TO THAT?!” The four mares, completely unfazed, promptly swapped over their score cards for much higher numbers, almost up to a hundred each. The interviewer nodded approvingly; “Very good marks indeed.” “Oh...well...” Nitrous began to calm down again. “...do I get the job?” he asked hopefully. “Well, quite frankly, you already have it. This interview was only really concocted for the sake of wasting your time. Congratulations, Nitrous Cannister, you're now the Head of the Clowns' Department.” The look of pure dismay on Nitrous' face as the interviewer and the judges fell about laughing was probably best left to charity!