The Pawnee Parks and Recreation department is in utter chaos before the announcement of the news. Two state government auditors from Indianapolis turning up and presumably changing the entire composition of the city government? A literal nightmare. Chris Traeger's worked too damn hard with all the resources at his disposal (admittedly not a lot) to have a series of parks and facilities that are functional and sometimes even thriving.
He stands at the window of his office, his eyes gazing through the glass at all of his wonderful employees. Tom Haverford, with all of his wackadoodle ideas that liven up each and every Monday morning meeting. Donna Meagle with her level head and the way in which she keeps the office running when common sense escapes everyone else. Jerry Gergich and his insatiable commitment to the job he's had for decades, despite the fact it must seem soul draining when one has worked as a bureaucrat for this long. April Ludgate and her misplaced ability to express to people that she cares. Every morning when she scowls at Chris when he greets her, he knows he's lucky that she even acknowledges him.
His employees are currently engaged in what looks to be pop culture warfare: who deserves to win Best Picture at the Academy Awards. Tom's in possession of a microphone he found somewhere in City Hall, and he's charismatically explaining why all his co-worker's choices are utter baloney (Tom is using more colourful language, but Chris likes to swap it for less inflammatory expressions). The four of them as they snipe and bicker and cry in anguish for truce seem so happy. It's tugging at Chris' heartstrings to even consider breaking the bad news to them all. He can't possibly do it. Thankfully, he has one employee who he can always rely on to deliver the bad news when need be.
"Ben, would you step into my office for a moment please?" Ben Wyatt looks up from his work, and follows Chris back into his office. Once the door is closed, Chris pulls the blinds down on all the windows, casting the two of them into a half-light that reminds Ben of a Humphrey Bogart movie.
"Whoa, Chris, has the pink panther been stolen?" Ben asks sarcastically. An appreciative chuckle breaks through Chris' worried demeanour.
"The pink panther diamond! I love it," he replies enthusiastically before his face drops again.
"Unfortunately, no. It's much worse than that. I have literally the worst task ever to ask of you," he continues heavily.
"Oh, you want me to tell the rest of the office about the two state auditors coming here to slash our budget?" Ben's matter-of-fact tone is so casual that Chris is pleasantly surprised.
"You know me almost better than I do! Yes! That would be wonderful. Thank you, Ben. I am literally in eternal gratitude to you." Ben shrugs.
"It's no problem." He turns to re-enter the rest of the office when Chris calls him back.
"Wait! Just, uh, please make sure you're gentle with them. They're a fragile bunch, and I don't want to damage them." There's a crash from the other side of the window. The Academy Award debate has escalated to hazardous levels.
"ALL THE OTHER MOVIES WILL SUCK AVATAR'S BIG, FAT BILLION DOLLAR DICK!" Tom yells triumphantly.
"No way – The Blind Side has the perfect combination of a heart-warming tale and appeal to race relations without featuring too many black people! The Academy laps that shit up." Once again, Donna's astute wisdom pierces through to pinpoint the cold, hard truth that Chris so often admires of her.
"DISTRICT 9. DISTRICT 9. DISTRICT 9. DISTRICT 9." Ben peeks through the blinds to see that April is now standing on top of her desk, chanting loudly and firmly for her choice of best picture. Her boyfriend, Andy, is standing beside the desk in solidarity. He had been hiding under her desk to escape one of the councilmen he had accidentally insulted.
"Babe, is that the one with the house and the balloons?" He whispers to her. Normally he has perfect aural recall of films and their titles and their entire script, but the time he spent living in the pit on Lot 48 temporarily prevented him from catching up on all the feature films he was planning on seeing. If he'd had the money.
"No, it's the one with all the lizard aliens." Andy's eyes light up as comprehension dawns on him.
"Ohhh! Oh, I want that one to win," he grins. Jerry is just sitting at his desk, his hands covering his ears.
"Shh, I don't want any spoilers, Gale is taping it for me so I don't miss it when I'm working late tonight."
"Well, you should have thought of that before I decided to LIVE TWEET THE WHOLE THING!" Donna's now waving her phone in the air in a sign of defiance to Jerry's aversion to spoilers.
Ben turns back to Chris.
"Gee, I wonder what they'll do if they shut the Parks department down?" he asks his boss sarcastically. Chris gives him a solemn look.
"I hope you're joking, Ben. Those people out there have literally given their blood, sweat and tears for this job. Any cuts to the department would ruin their livelihoods, perhaps forever." Ben's pretty sure that only Chris has actually given all three to his job, but he doesn't contradict him. Instead he concedes a nod. He'll deliver the bad news once again. Ben almost, in a masochistic way, relishes the role of martyr that is constantly bestowed on him when Chris doesn't want to hurt the feelings of his employees.
"Okay, Chris." It's not that Ben likes to be the bad guy, but he's a realist. In the world of government, he knows that it's impossible to please everyone. Instead, he assumes that the choices their department makes will annoy most people, and is therefore pleasantly surprised when they work out better than expected. Or does that make him a pessimist? Whichever one it is, the attitude he holds towards his work is necessary for him to get any work done.
Or so he thought before he met Leslie Knope.
