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- “Ergh, why do I have to do this...”
- >You are Whitney, the top floor supervisor.
- >”Owwies! No huwt fiwwy!”
- >You're standing before the playpen, which is loaded with fluffy foals.
- >It's still dark; in fact, it's about four in the morning.
- >”Sweepy! No wan' pway time!”
- >A cacophony of squeaky voices fills the air.
- >One of your duties as the supervisor is to make sure unpurchased stock doesn't clog up the inventory chain.
- >While the basement guys do most of the color sorting for you, sometimes a color will just fall out of favor.
- >That color is said to be overstocked.
- >This gets much worse during the summer, when the inventory of foals swells to massive levels.
- >Even though most foals fly out the door, there can still be a backlog of colors.
- >Because of the high sales rate, the color gluts can be easily identified.
- >Since you're up here so much, you have a better idea about which colors will move and which won't.
- >Yesterday, Sarah asked you to clear the backlog.
- >Usually, you tell her what's not selling and she does it, along with her lunatic cousin.
- >Today, however, she'll be busy elsewhere and won't be in until lunchtime.
- >The task has fallen to you.
- >”Why dawk? Cowt no wike dawk, scawy!”
- >You tun one one bank of overhead lights.
- >”New mommy! Pick fwuffy!”
- >Some of the dimmer foals have forgotten who you are, as usual.
- >The others ask you to play, or give hugs.
- >With a sigh, you adjust your glasses and look at the clipboard.
- >Pink is not selling very well at all.
- >You scan the squirming, giggling mass of foals.
- >Beside you is a large wooden crate.
- >You begin plucking pink foals out of the mass and putting them in it.
- >”Whee, fwy game!”
- >”Wan' huggies mommy!”
- >”Pway now?”
- >”Whewe go fwuffy?”
- >Soon, you have about twenty pink foals, waddling around and hugging each other.
- >You look down at the clipboard for the next unwanted color.
- >Green. Not as unpopular as pink, but still not selling fast.
- >You pick up green foals as you see them.
- >”Yay! Pick fwuffy! Wuv you!”
- >”Nuuuuu, fiwwy wan' fwiends!”
- >”Huggies!”
- >”No wike dis, scawy pwace...”
- >The green and pink foals mix among themselves.
- >The clump looks like a fuzzy watermelon.
- >All the other colors on your list are selling well, but you're not done.
- >The most difficult part comes now; in the rush to provide product, tons of off-color foals get sent up.
- >As the rush continues, these foals take up space and resources, and must go.
- >You gently push aside foals to get to the unwanted.
- >”Nuuu, pwayin'!” a brown pegasus cries, trying to hug his red playmate as you take him away.
- >There are some truly atrocious looking foals in this bunch.
- >Some look like living piles of crap. Or vomit...or both.
- >Others are pastel shades of popular colors, so faded they looked like they've been bleached.
- >If they were actually white, they'd be treated like tiny kings and queens.
- >As the gene pool has expanded and been recycled, multicolors have been showing up.
- >Green and brown? Never going to go. Into the crate.
- >Blue and red? Should be sold by day's end.
- >Pink and green? Not today, unfortunately. She goes in, wings flapping with fear.
- >You have to make judgment calls on some of the multis.
- >A pair of yellow and white unicorn twins, clinging to each other as you take their friends, is spared.
- >Some of the earth fluffy brown and tans, that look like cows, are also kept.
- >They could be good novelty fluffies.
- >Most anything with white should sell, but pastel multis are doomed.
- >The public wants bright colors. School bus yellow, candy apple red.
- >They want monotone white and black, even though the latter is nearly impossible to get.
- >”Pwayin' wif new fwiends!” the foals in the crate chirp.
- >”Nuuuu, make bad poopies!” one screams.
- >Doesn't matter. The crate floor is lined.
- >The foals back away from the smell as you continue to judge the ones in the pen.
- >You desperately hate this task.
- >”Why fwuffy go in bocks, am ba'?” a faintly grey unicorn asks with teary red eyes.
- >What are you supposed to say? Wordlessly, you put her in.
- >By five, you've thinned out the foal stock immensely.
- >The ones in the crate are now cramped and piled on top of each other.
- >”Mommy, hewp! Fiwwy haf owwies!”
- >”No smeww pwetty, wet out! Fwuffy sowwy!”
- >”Owwies! Why weggies on cowt taiw?!”
- >The ones in the pen are scared, already babbling about the 'scary box'.
- >They will see another day of happiness.
- >You glance out the plate glass windows when car lights appear.
- >It's Tiffany with the company truck. You gulp audibly, but put on a polite face when she comes in.
- >”What's up?” she asks, cracking her knuckles. “You done sorting?”
- “Yes, I'm done. Did Sarah want me to count them before you go?”
- >She shakes her head, smoothing down her scruffy blonde hair.
- >”Doesn't matter. They'll get counted when I get there.”
- >”All right. Do you need help with the--”
- >Of course she doesn't need help with the crate. Tiffany is the most physically terrifying woman you know.
- “Right...well, see you in a few hours, I guess...”
- >”Nah, I'm off today.”
- >Thank god.
- >You hold the door open as she carries the crate out.
- >The foals within are scared stiff.
- >”Scawy bumpies! No wike muv!”
- >”Pwease stop, fwuffy sowwy! Fwuffy haf owwies!”
- >”Hewp! Mommy!”
- >You watch her set it in the truckbed.
- >When she leaves, you put the foals that passed muster back in their cages, and make notes on your clipboard about which colors need to be restocked.
- >The giggling of an hour ago has become a scattered chant of 'whewe fwiends go?”
- >'Sissy come back!' and 'No mo' bwuva...?' are interspersed in it too.
- >You take off your glasses and rub your nose with a long, loud sigh.
- >Since you won't be opening for three hours yet, you decide to head back home.
- >Have to make sure the three foals Sarah got from Lucy are still doing well.
- >She doesn't tell you where the unwanted foals go, but you know it's bad.
- >The five fuzzy darlings at home are the only way you can live with yourself.
- >Maybe you should ask Lucy if she needs an employee.
- ------
- >”Seventy-one. The usual rate still apply?”
- ”Far as I know.”
- >”All right, I'll cut you a check when I get them into the back.”
- >You look down into the crate at the unhappy foals.
- >The truck ride out here has made most of them dirty with fearful shit and urine.
- >Pwease hewp, no smeww pwetty!”
- >”Owwies! No can muv!”
- >The guy looks at you with a wry smile.
- >”Wanna toss one in?”
- “Ya know I do.”
- >He grabs a clean-looking foal and examines it. It's a puke green pegasus.
- >”You wuv fwuffy? Gif huggies?” she asks hesitantly.
- >”This one's good to go,” he says, handing her to you.
- >”New fwiend?” she asks, hugging your wrist.
- >”Oh, wait!” he blurts out, producing a small folding knife from his overalls.
- >Taking the foal back, he cuts off her wings before returning her.
- >”There we go, have it at.”
- >”OWWIIIIIEEEEEES!” she screams, her body thrashing.
- >You toss her gracefully into the massive saltwater tank.
- >The salt entering her wounds causes her to scream shrilly as she flails about.
- >You wait a few seconds.
- >”They're a bit sluggish, that's why I put in the order.”
- >Suddenly, the water around the foal explodes in a bloom of foam as a zebra shark pup rises up to take its prey.
- >”Good girl, you'll be feeling better when that fluff cleans you out. Wanna do a few more?”
- “Nah, I wanna get back home. Kinda sleepy.”
- >”All right then. I'll haul these to the back and we'll get that check written.”
- >The foals in the crate are soiling themselves and screaming with new found fear as he carries them off.
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