[Afternoon of Day 15]
"You never thought that you were in danger of being fired?" asked the Postmaster.
Derpy looked up at him with the wide-eyed innocence of a filly half her age. "No."
The Postmaster groaned and leaned forward on his oaken desk while rubbing at his temples. He was a middle-aged earth pony stallion, no longer in the prime of his life but equally far from prospects of retirement. He scratched at the graying stubble on his chin and briefly looked out the windows of his office to see numerous clerks sorting stacks of outgoing mail for shipment later in the day. The soundproofed windows muted the noise of the busy scene, but the sight itself seemed to lend him additional composure. His withering gaze returned to the gray pegasus before him.
"Derpy," the Postmaster began, "do you remember the stallion who summoned you to my office?"
"Yeah!" Derpy replied with the enthusiasm of a proud student.
"His name is Chuck Parcel," the Postmaster continued. "Do you know what his job is?"
"He's a mailpony," Derpy answered, glad that her boss had decided to give her a quiz instead of letting her go.
The Postmaster frowned. "His job is to follow behind you and correct all the mistakes you make."
"Wow," said Derpy. "I bet if he worked with me then I wouldn't screw up any more deliveries."
"Derpy Hooves," the Postmaster stated formally, pushing a pink Notice of Termination across the desk. "He can do your job by himself." There was a pause as he watched the corners of the Derpy's mouth come down a bit. "Flawlessly."
As Derpy took hold of the notice, there was a tapping at the office door. The Postmaster held up a "one moment" hoof to the pony on the other side of the glass.
"Now I want you to know that this isn't personal," said the grizzled earth pony in a more comforting tone. "I'm not doing this because I'm angry at you. I simply can't justify paying two ponies for a job that one pony can do."
Derpy didn't look up from reading the notice.
"This isn't Canterlot," the Postmaster continued, "so I can't refer you to the Department of Labor. However, if you look at the bottom of the form you'll see the names and addresses of Ponyville's volunteer social workers—"
"My apartment," Derpy blurted out as she brought her gaze up to meet the Postmaster's. "It's low rent, but you have to have proof of employment." The corners of her mouth twitched nervously. The usual cheer had departed from her voice. "They're gonna get a copy of this?"
The Postmaster remained stone-faced. "Official notices are sent out at the start of each business day. You know that, Derpy."
"I'll be evicted the same day!" Derpy yelped before shrinking back from her own outburst in the very next instant.
"If that's the case, then you'd best be going," the Postmaster replied while gesturing toward the door. "Not much time to pack before the sun goes down."
For the first time since the Postmaster had known her, Derpy proved capable of taking a hint. She turned to the exit, casting only a single glance back at her former supervisor before opening the door. Standing before her was a well-dressed earth pony mare whose blue eyes stared down at Derpy through a pair of gold-framed reading glasses. The mare said nothing, but Derpy felt her heart sink and her throat swell. Seeing a mare nearly the same age as herself but visually at the height of personal success caused everything about her present situation to become mercilessly clear. Feeling red-hot with shame, Derpy continued past the mare without a word.
"Come in, please," declared the Postmaster.
The fuchsia-hued mare stepped into his office, her brilliant red hair and its single white streak wound tightly into a bun. Her blouse, tie, business jacket, skirt, and the armband worn on the outside of the jacket told the Postmaster that he was looking at a government agent, but this particular combination of white, dark green, and red colors did not belong to any department that he was aware of. He cleared his throat.
"So, what can I do for you, Miss . . ."
"Three Strike," the earth pony answered, her modest golden necklace and earrings dancing about as she walked. "Although you may call me 'Miss Strike.'"
LL
