Title: Paper Cups and Canadians (1/1)
Author: Liz Huisman
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: To those who own them: Aaron Sorkin, John Wells, that third guy on the closing credits, NBC, Warner Bros., God… don't sue! I'm not making money or claiming ownership.
Summary: Josh and Donna banter about a file.
A/N: Being awake and with idea at midnight is not a good thing. This sprawned from one of those sessions, well, the one last night, really, and is just some good ol' fashioned J/D dialogue/banter. Yay!
"Donna!"
Silence, as usual. Damn this woman.
"Donna! DonnadonnadonnadonnaDONNA!"
"Jesus, Josh, keep your pants on. I was getting coffee."
"For me?"
Donna snorted. "What kind of assistant do you think I am?"
"One who's about to be fired."
"You'd never fire me."
"Why not?"
"You'd fall over and die without me."
"But – "
"Yes, you would. Don't even attempt a witty comment. It's bound to flop anyway. Now, what did you want?"
"I need the file about the disposal of paper cups and plates from Presidential picnics."
"You actually have a *file * on this?"
"Yes. And a study group. But that's not the point. I need the file."
"There are Presidential picnics?"
"Yes. Now about that file, Donna?"
"How come I'm never invited?"
"I'm sure the President chooses to keep his picnics classy."
"Which means I'm sure you've never invited either."
"I've been invited to many, Donna, many. The file?"
"I'm charming. I'm intelligent. I'm a lot of fun."
"Donna. File."
"I'm also damn cute!"
"Let's just get that file, shall we?"
"I seriously don't believe you guys have files on the disposal of Presidential paper cups and plates."
"We have a file on everything."
"But WHY?"
"If I had an answer, I'd do something to stop it. But for now, please, for the love of GOD, GET THE FILE!"
"I just asked why you have a file on this. When you answer my question, I'll get the file."
"Believe it or not, we've had people going through dumpsters looking for anything the President ate off, or even touched."
"Stop screwing with me, Josh!"
"I'm serious!"
"Okay… who are these people? Mental hospital escapees?"
"No. Canadians, most likely."
"Joshua! That's mean! Canadians are cool!"
"I'm cooler."
"They're more sophisticated than you, they're smarter than you, and yes, many are better looking than you."
"Are we through with the Bash-Josh fest? Would you like to get me the file?"
"No witty comeback? That's all I get? Canadians are funnier than you, too."
"Bet you didn't know I'm a wee bit Canadian myself."
"You are not."
"I am."
"You're a German and Polish Jew."
"My grandfather married a Canadian. Got a lot of shit from his parents and all, for marrying one, but at least she was also Jewish."
"You are so lying to me. You said both of your grandmother's were German."
"Well, sure they were. My father's mother was German after she moved to Germany, but before that, she was Canadian."
"Joshua…"
"I'm serious. Now go get my file."
"You don't have to be so rude!"
"You don't have to be so stubborn!"
"You don't have to be so ornery!"
"You could just go get the file!"
"Why do you want it so badly?"
"Oh, Donna, you know me. There's nothing I'd rather do than sit around and read about the President's trash."
"I'll go get that file…"
"Thank you!"
"I'll be right back."
"You're supposed to say thank you!"
"I'll get the file, I said."
"We Canadians are polite."
"So are we Americans. That category would include you."
"I'm still Canadian. And the majority of Americans are NOT polite."
"You're American, Josh. You were born in American, you live in American, so that would mean you're AMERICAN!"
"Sure, but I was conceived in Canada."
"Ugh. That right there, that was too much
information. I'm going to make a mad
dash for someone's filing cabinet right now."
Donna made a run out into the office, while I sat down and grinned. Any chance to make Donna squirm was fun.
A few minutes later, she came back in with a huge file. "Here. I got you all kinds of stuff. Presidential trash disposal, Presidential trash collectors, Presidential trash cans, and, oh, look! Presidential dog-walking paths, just for the hell of it."
"Many thanks, Donna."
"One more question."
I sighed.
"Was your grandmother a French Canadian or a British Canadian?"
"Eh… French. I don't think I could deal with the emotional torture of being partly the same nationality as John Marbury."
"John Marbury is a charming man."
"Donna, he's a lunatic."
"He's very charming!"
"Somebody needs to teach you what a charming man is…"
END