//------------------------------// // Work Place Wandering // Story: The Life and Times of a Smoothie Making Alien. // by LucidTech //------------------------------//         John had always had a relaxed view on the world, and while everyone seemed to seek exclusion of different opinions John had done his best to take a few strolls around the block, as it were. He’d talked with a few very passionate people about a few very important issues, but among them all John had found that the world was focused very outwardly. Which isn’t bad of course, heaven knows the world needs far more people looking outwardly than inside, but in comparison to all the protestors and debaters that John had met he found that the things that mattered most to him were elsewhere.         It was the midst of a building war-like climate that John came to the conclusion that he hated expectations. It wasn’t exactly a sane conclusion to come to, given what else was going on. But he stuck to his resolution none the less. He certainly hated war, but he hated expectations more. As he explored the hatred he came across a story about a man trapped in hell. Or rather, he was trapped in a room with two other people, but that was hell. Because no matter what, he couldn’t break free of their expectations and their searching eyes, and that was what made it hell.         Expectations...         The thought came to him as he was working the drinks at Berry’s juice bar. His smoothies had been catching on with the crowd. It was slow going, sure. But now there was a metaphorical foot in the door. There was also a literal foot in the door. A body followed that foot, which was actually a hoof, but that’s splitting hairs really.         So the owner of the hoof entered the bar, the hairs of the pony herself more or less unsplit all in all. It wasn’t a pony of interest, it wasn’t even a pony he knew. Fact of the matter was that it was just a pony, right there, coming into the bar. As he waited for her order he thought solemnly on the expectations between him and this pony he hadn’t met and he found himself once more very angry at expectations. But this is the sort of anger you hide. After all, one does not simply go around expressing anger at non-tangible nouns.         She would probably have expected a pony behind the bar, unless she’d been told in advance. John would expect her to order, she would expect him to make her order, he would expect her to pay. These were the kinds of harmless expectations that he didn’t mind so much. Unfortunately, they were not the only expectations in the universe. A fact which I suspect you would expect.         However, if she were a friend of the ponies who weren’t all that happy with a human than she might speak really slowly, expecting him to be rather dull in the head. Whether or not this expectation was true was no matter, the mere existence of it would be rather annoying. Then there were the kinds where someone expects you to do something without even so much as common knowledge to back it up. And those were the worst kind. Where, just because you met one time, they expect you to bend over backwards for them.         John realized his grip had tightened on the cup he was holding and he quickly moved his gaze to the pony, smiling and loosening his hold. She looked back and smiled. She ordered, he charged, she paid, he made. And she went on her way with her smoothie, taking a seat in the bar with her smoothie and straw, waiting until she was at the table before she took her first sip. He saw her smile, it made it worth it, sometimes. He hadn’t expected her to smile.         Sometimes it’s not about favors or debts. It’s not about expectations. It’s about when someone does something, completely unexpected, out of the kindness of their hearts. When an act of kindness goes from unexpected to expected a lot of the magic is lost. Of course, it’s nice to receive on christmas, or your birthday. But when you get home from a long day at work at there’s a set of ginger ale on the table…         John grabbed one now, from the alcove beneath the cupboard, a small bow around the neck of it, red ribbon that seemed to smile itself. He took a sip of it and placed it back. It’d been about a month since he’d come to Ponyville. He thought that he might becoming some kind of tourist trap, given the increased traffic to the bar. But maybe, just maybe, ponies really liked smoothies.         He hoped that’s what the ginger ale was for. A job well done. Not a come on, or a romantic interest. He didn’t know how to handle a relationship with a pony. He was not ‘suave’ by any definition of the word. As he stood there he felt a kick to his side, light and powerful all the same. He saw Berry looking at him with a sly, toothy grin. “Stop day dreaming John. Work to do.” “Got it Berry.” “That’s Ms. Punch to you.” He half heartedly smiled as she walked away. He was relieved, naturally, that it wasn’t anything serious. He wasn’t her type after all, he was worried about nothing. She probably wanted a strong stallion who could bring in some extra wages, caring and romantic. A go getter. And… luckily… for John. He was none of those. However, as he stood there realizing he didn’t want to get in a relationship with any ponies he came to conclusion that so long as he stayed here… in this world… he would die alone. The thought hit him in the side, this time metaphorically, but he brushed it off, attempting to quell the widening void he suddenly felt in his gut. After all, that’s probably how it would have ended up back home too. Alone... Except, of course, for Porge the hamster.