Housekeeping

It was a wonderful, beautiful day in Ponyland, a wonderful, beautiful land full of ponies. All days in Ponyland were wonderful and beautiful, but this day was especially wonderful, although no more beautiful than the rest. The reason, you may ask? As well you may! This story shan't have a very good start if it were just your average wonderful, beautiful day, now would it? There has to be something to set it apart from the rest of the wonderful, beautiful days in Ponyland, and since overwhelmingly beautiful days tended to bring gobs of babies some months later, the little ponies had a restriction on them. Especially wonderful days, however, tended to happen rather often.

On this particular especially wonderful, beautiful day in Ponyland, a little white pony with a rainbow colored mane and a glittery five-point star painted on her side lounged in a chaise near the front steps of Paradise Estate. Star (the wonderful, beautiful, and stereotypically named pony) waited anxiously for a package. Although not the type of package brought about by overwhelmingly beautiful days, it had been expected for a similarly long amount of time. This was the day that Paradise Estate's new M.A.I.D. was to arrive! The M.A.I.D. (Mission: Annihilate Icky Dirt) had been purchased several months ago from a company by the estate's owner, Faith, so that she might spend more time dreaming up wonderful, beautiful ways to please the guests and considerably less time fetching them delicacies and/or scrubbing toilets. In the weeks since then, their custom- made M.A.I.D. had been assembled.

At precisely 2:15 in the afternoon, nothing happened.

At precisely 2:16 in the afternoon, Star scratched her left ear with her hoof and lazily turned over to sunbathe on her other side, as her excitement had long since worn off.

At precisely 2:17 in the afternoon, nothing happened.

At precisely 2:18 in the afternoon, a large sea-going bird fell clumsily to the ground in front of Paradise Estate, lying in a mangled heap of feathers and dragging a large sack behind him. A clunking noise came from the bag as several bits and pieces spilled from it. Star looked at the large sea-going bird, shocked that he had the audacity to damage such a wonderful (and beautiful, Star was certain) thing as the new M.A.I.D. She did the only thing she could think of- she sputtered.

"Wha-- How-- You just-- Broken-- Ruined--" She finished off her sputtering with a wonderful, beautiful wail- "SO EXPENSIVE!!!!"

The large sea-going bird stared back and calmly said, "I haven't broken anything!"

"What do you mean you haven't broken anything? Our M.A.I.D. is in pieces! How can you calmly lie there in a mangled heap of feathers dragging a large sack behind you which is spilling several bits and pieces of our new M.A.I.D. from it and say that you haven't broken anything?"

"It came in pieces," the large sea-going bird said, and drug itself away, leaving Star to puzzle it out on her own.

"But it was being assembled for months. This makes no sense. Oh, well, nothing to it but to find out how extensive the damage is to our new M.A.I.D." Star opened the sack that the large sea-going bird had left and gently tried to remove the majority of the M.A.I.D. from the bag. Feeling around with her hoof, she noticed that there seemed to be nothing in the bag but bits and pieces- certainly nothing that felt like a completed M.A.I.D. Peering in merely confirmed this. However, peering also revealed that there was a bit (or piece- Star could never remember which was which) of parchment. On it was the picture of a rather scruffy man with a five-o- clock shadow and a beer belly, the statement "Call us if you have any questions about your new M.A.I.D.", and a phone number: 1-800-CON-R-TST. Star called the number and asked to speak with someone in the customer service department.

"We don't have one of those," was the response on the other end of the phone.

"Oh, ah, could I talk to someone who knows what to do with a problem about a M.A.I.D.?"

"If you don't like your current butlery service, you should buy a M.A.I.D.! They cook, they clean, they fetch delicacies and/or scrub toilets so you can spend more time dreaming up wonderful and beautiful ways to please your guests-"

"Yes, I know, we have already purchased a M.A.I.D. I have problems with our new M.A.I.D. and would like to speak to someone who knows what they are doing."

"We don't have anyone like that."

"ARGGGH! Can I speak with someone in charge? A manager? Anyone besides you?"

"Oh, I AM the manager. My name's Sparkler. But you can talk to Northy if you'd rather. She's the other manager. "

"Which of you can answer questions about the new M.A.I.D.?" Star spat between gritted teeth. Neither spitting nor gritting teeth is considered wonderful or beautiful things to do in Ponlyand, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and sometimes, a pony has to do what a pony has to do. This was such a time, and Star had to spit and grit like she had never spat nor gritted before.

"Uh, I think Northy might. Let me ask her and find out. HEY NORTHY! SOME CHUMP ON THE PHONE HAS QUESTIONS ABOUT A M.A.I.D.! SHOULD I GET RID OF HER?" There was a long pause full of distant muffled conversation pierced with the occasional snort of derisive laughter or maniacal giggling. "I'm sorry ma'am, Northy isn't available right now. May I take a message? I'm certain that she'll get back to you RIGHT away." More giggles, muffled somewhat by the pony's hoof. Hooves, however, weren't made for muffling, so it came over the line very clearly. "I'll be glad to help you in any way I can."

"Yes. My new M.A.I.D. arrived today, and it's all in pieces. I was under the impression that the M.A.I.D.'s came assembled."

"It is assembled."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is."

"No, it's NOT!"

"Yes, it IS!"

"If it were assembled, I wouldn't be sitting here with a sack full of bits and pieces of M.A.I.D.! I would be sitting here with a complete, fully- assembled, promptly-functional M.A.I.D! And I wouldn't be on the phone with you because there wouldn't be any problem!"

"If it weren't assembled, you'd be sitting there with an empty sack. When we say 'assembled' we meant that all of the pieces come together. We have assembled them into one sack for your convenience."

Star sighed. This was getting VERY frustrating. Perhaps she should just return the M.A.I.D. and get Faith's money back. "What about my warranty? M.A.I.D.s are supposed to come with a warranty. I didn't have one."

"Well, how did you get this number? It comes on the same piece of paper."

"It came on a paper with a photo of a balding, pot-bellied man."

The pony on the other line sounded very excited, as if she had finally come to grasp the ideas that were in this customer's head. "Yes, yes, that's Warren. Warren T. He's our sacker. He sacks. He put all the bits and pieces in the sack for us. He's very good. I'm so glad we found him. And do you know that Warren can make the most wonderful eggs? All men can make good eggs, of course, but eggs a la Warren are really something else. You should have your M.A.I.D. make you a batch sometime. The recipe is programmed into it. We like to call it 'into-it-ive'. It's a new program that we had installed- just tell your new M.A.I.D. to make eggs a la Warren, and off she'll whisk, to make you the best eggs you've eve-"

"I. Do. Not. Care. About. Eggs. I. Do. Not. Care. About. Your. Balding. Pot- bellied. Sacker. I. Can. Not. Have. My. M.A.I.D. Make. Your. Sacker's. Eggs. Until. It. Is. ASSEMBLED!!" Star's spat and gritted much more than she did earlier. This, my friends, was the highest level of spitting and gritting that anyone in Ponyland had ever experienced before. It was neither wonderful nor beautiful, but it was impressive.

"Do you have any more questions?" asked the voice on the other end of the line.

"Yes. Where are you located so I can either return my M.A.I.D. or injure you severely?"

"I'm sorry. That's classified information. We can't give out our location because we live in constant fear that someone will spirit Warren away from us in the dark hours of the night and then we will be doomed to live forever without his sacking abilities or his fantastic egg-making skills. We just couldn't let that happen. It would destroy us. You understand. Have a nice day!" The pony on the other end of the line hung up.

Star slumped despondently onto the floor, incidentally crushing a few bits and pieces of the new M.A.I.D., one of which happened to be the M.A.I.D.'s processing circuitry.