Shitty Entrepreneur Anon

>Be Anon, a perfumer.
>Okay, no, that's not really true. You're actually a baker. And an inventor. You invented the Turnip Twaddler. Also, reusable dental floss.
>They didn't do very well, for some reason.
>And an entrepreneur. You thought you could get big in Equestria by chinchilla ranching.
>Unfortunately it turns out that chinchillas are unionized here. And hoofball parlay cards didn't do any better.
>You're in dire need of a score. A big score, since literally no one here will loan you money anymore.
>Not even the Element of Generosity herself, Rarity, who backed your last two ventures.
>"If you need it, I can supply you with necessities," she'd said. "But no more money. Because I'm afraid, darling, that as much as I like you, you're absolutely...and please forgive me for saying this...shit with money."
>Applejack had made the crack that if you thought an investment was a good idea, you should do the exact opposite thing.
>Fuckin' horse bitches. You don't need them.
>Anyway, you sold most of your remaining assets, and sank the last of your capital into one last venture, or lose.
>Bread-scented perfumes and colognes. Attar de Baguette, you were calling it.
>Since there were scads of bird-pones running around Canterlot, Ponyville and most other urban Equestrian areas, you figured you were due for a stroke of luck
>Bird ponies are fucknuts for bread, after all
>So why wouldn't one want to smell like a loaf of fresh-baked bread?
>Which is why you're not sitting at a promotional booth in Canterlot Park, trying to move ten thousand units of your yeast-scented toilet water.
>You'd started at what you thought was a reasonable 5 bits apiece. You'd even asked Rarity if she could set aside some space in her shop
>She'd insisted on taking a sniff of it beforehand. She'd declared it...interesting. Interesting was good, right?
>She'd agreed, after a momentary look of hopeless panic, but the shop HAD been kind of busy that morning..

>You'd started at 5 bits, but after nothing moved in three days, you dropped the price to 3 and a half.
>You were overjoyed when you'd finally sold a couple of them to a curious unicorn, and the same customer came back the next day.
>And your hopes were crashed when she demanded a refund--it seems the stuff made her smell like tuna cannery after a couple of hours and attracted every cat in the neighborhood.
>You figured that was a feminine hygiene problem and told her so. You didn't THINK it was a good sign when a unicorn spontaneously combusted.
>But an amazing sight nevertheless.
>Regardless, your sales were nonexistent since then, and you'd lowered the price again and again, and right now it was sitting at a bit and ten, and they still weren't moving.
>You think back to all the long nights you'd spent watching Billy Mays infomercials and reruns of PITCH MEN back on Earth.
>Billy would have been able to sell this shit no matter how horrific it smelled, you think to yourself
>It didn't smell THAT bad, did it? I mean, it smelled kind of like fish sauce, but millions of people liked that, and it smelled KIND of like yeast, right?
>Fucking ponies, man.
>You're contemplating whether or not to try marketing it as a stray-cat attractant/rodent repellent when you hear a voice
>"So how much for the perfume?"
>You look down, and there's a seagull pone sitting there in front of you. Your first bird-pone customer. Hell, only your second customer at that.

>"I'm asking a bit and ten for it," you say.
>"Yeah," she says. "Lemme have a little sniff of it. I have to see what it is I'm buying here."
>You pull the top off a bottle and spritz a bit in her direction. She takes a sniff of it and nods speculatively.
>"Oh nice! It's pretty potent though. It's not made with artificial ingredients, though, is it?"
>"Nope, this is made with all-natural extracts of yeast and wheat," you say.
"Hypoallergenic?" she says. "I have such a problem with molting and sensitive skin, you see. Like my sister--she has the WORST problem with feather psoriasis..."
>she rambles on for a couple of minutes about her birb-pone relatives, her sister's skin conditions, and the topic widens into slowly widening, meandering circles while your eyes glaze.
>You finally bring the topic back to the one at hand. "Sooooo...the perfume?"
"Right, yes," she says. "90 cents you said?"
>You clap your hand over your face. "No, a bit and ten."
>"Oh, right..." she says. She starts to dig into her coin purse. "Wait, it wasn't animal-tested, was it?"
>You mentally count to ten, then twenty. "No, not tested on animals at all. This is completely cruelty-free."
>At least it will be until you choke her to death.
>"Oh, good," she says. She starts to dig into her purse with all the grace and speed of a slug with polio and then pauses again.
>"Oh, and just in case, is there any kind of money-back guarantee if I'm not satisfied with this? It's not that I think there's going to be a problem, I just like to know that I have recourse if anything should, y'know, happen..."
>You fight the urge to beat her with your sign. "If you're not completely satisfied, you should feel free to bring whatever you don't use back for a refund. I can give it to you in writing, if you want..."
>"That would be good, thank you," she says, smiling. Mentally cursing and praying it doesn't show on your face, you write it down on one of your receipts.

>She rubs her chin thoughtfully with a hoof. "You know, it would probably be a good idea if we could get this notarized--"
>And she finally sees the look of crazed fury on your face. "Okay, that probably won't be necessary. Sorry. Hold on..." she starts digging into her coin purse again.
>She stops again, and you nearly scream. "I don't seem to have enough money with me--let me just run home and get some, okay? I'll be back in a jiff!"
>She closes her purse and flies off.
>You're sitting there, your anger fading. You're going to make a sale
>You're...actually going to sell something. You wipe a tear of joy away from your eye. Maybe this is the point when your fortunes finally...
>...and you hear soft fluttering behind you.
>You turn around just in time to see the last of the seagull ponies who are absconding with your perfume. Your entire stock is gone.
>Your eye twitches.
>....
>....
>"...and that's when I set the entire park on fire, Your Honor."