In the country of Equestria, ponies struggle with doing dishes. Ponies would much rather work in a field for hours on end than be stuck in front of a sink. This fact of life extended to the restaurant industry, where it's much worse. Some restaurants resort to using disposable utensils and plates, but there is always a dish that needs to be washed. Even in high-end establishments, they have trouble with high employee turnover when it comes to dishwashers. Not even a crew of ponies washing dishes will last long. Only the strong, motherly mare of the household is capable of doing the dishes every night (for the most part) to save her children from the toils of the sink. Those with the resolve to handle the dirty work of washing dishes are few and far between, because washing dishes is always viewed as a chore and not a worthwhile career.

In Equestria, if you are washing dishes, you are either between jobs or insane.

Dishwasher turnover in Equestria is one of the worst of all industries.

Your name is Anon and you are currently looking to get a job. Why? You need money, for things like goods and services. It also doesn't feel right living off of the kindness of others all the time.

Your skillset should work well in this pastel pony land, you had thought. Back in your home planet all you did really was work in restaurants and the like. Job markets for people like you, college-aged dudes with healthy bodies, meant that your only choice was to work in foodservice. You have the most experience being a line cook.

Unfortunately, most places here won't hire line cooks right off the bat. You've tried and failed multiple times to get a cooking gig here. You can remember how most interactions went with those who were in charge of hiring for local restaurants...

"Sorry, we already have enough cooks!"

"You can cook? We already have more than enough, sorry!"

"What are you doing in my house? Please get out, I don't have time for guests!"

Good lord, what a blow to your ego. It's okay though, because your standards for a good job just keep getting lower and lower as each attempt goes on. Fucking ponies, always doubting your skills of dropping fryer baskets and grilling shit.

Of course you couldn't just get a job as a cook, that wasn't how it worked back on Earth, and now you know that's not how it's going to work here.

This time, it's back to square one. Time to go slay some dishes.

You're not completely adverse to the idea, some of your best moments were spent washing dishes. You sometimes miss the zen of having music blare from a bluetooth speaker as you're in the zone. You also sometimes miss the lack of constant communication, and peace from the cooking line and front of house. In this pony world it'll never be the same as working back home, but you must do what a man has to do.

You live in Ponyville, a somewhat quiet town for Equestria, but there's still a lot going on even in this town. There's always some ponies walking to and fro, friends meeting up, and those working on whatever it is they work on. It's strange going from a midwestern city to a place like this. At least you have a nice quiet place on the edge of town to call home, a lovely bridge where you've made a campsite. A campsite can't hold you forever, so now you must find gainful employment.

You stroll the streets, during the time of day that is the peace and quiet between the lunch and dinner rush of all the establishments here. This is the prime hours for getting hired. There is always a manager free to converse with you.

As you are walking, you notice your next target for employment. A lovely establishment called "Dinny's!"

It looks like an average-sized restaurant, with moderate traffic. Just by the first look at the place, you can tell it's the equivalent of the kind of place that people would go to after church back on Earth. Clean, unobtrusive, wholesome, and inviting. You step up to the main entrance, and prepare yourself.

Just as you walk up to the front doors, they burst open. A sad, wet, and very angry pony storms out.

"I'm never going to wash dishes EVER AGAIN! THIS IS POO POO!" the pony wails.

Whelp. Looks like there's a job opening with your name written all over it. You grin.

You walk in, making sure not to bang your head against the pony-sized doors. You're pleasantly surprised to find that the height of the ceiling inside is high enough for you to walk comfortably inside it. You overhear a loud conversation coming from the back...

"At this rate, we'll have gone through everypony in town!"

"Don't worry, Palette! I'm sure somepony will come by and help us out... though I'm not sure if I can help out with the dishes for much longer. Oh, fiddlesticks! Somepony walked in! I gotta go to the front!"

You scan the environment. The restaurant is completely empty. You thank yourself for the impeccable timing, because there's nothing worse than dealing with a whole restaurant and having to handle someone who wants a job at the same time. You reminisce on your old fast food days when there would be a huge line of people waiting to get their order taken, and then the person in front of you wants to have a long discussion about working with you.

You are currently standing behind the counter. The way this place is built, it's more of a fast food restaurant than anything with the counter being right here. You wonder how many restaurants in town actually do have the menus given to you at the table.

A yellow earth pony mare currently in pony-employee uniform greets your vision as she frantically scrambles to the other side of the counter.

"Welcome to Dinny's! Wow, you're big! Are you dining in with us tonight?" the yellow serverhorse asks.

"No, actually. I'd like to speak to a manager."

You don't know how it's possible, but all of the color from the mare's face seemed to go away. Isn't that fur on their face?

"My m-m-manager?" she squeaks.

"Uh, yeah. Your manager." you say.

"D-did I do something wrong? I'm so sorry for calling you big! Have I been a bad pony?" she stammers out. Jesus Christ, that's morbidly adorable. You suppress your sick fantasies of tormenting with ponies emotionally for now, and reply.

"No, you're not a bad pony. I'm simply here for a potential job if I can get one."

Just like that, the color regains on the yellow mare's face, and she is now smiling.

"Phew! Okay!" she says, clopping her two front hooves together, "Let me go get my manager for you!"

As she happily trots to the back of house, you hear a couple of murmurs from there. The murmurs stop and then you're soon greeted by the manager of the establishment.

"Hey, I've seen you around town! You must be our residential human! What's your name?" the manager says.

"My name is Anonymous."

You study the manager for a second. A unicorn! With lovely blue eyes! Her main coat is somewhat pink, with a light blue mane and tail. In her mane and tail, there's some noticeable grey hairs spread throughout. She's got a few wrinkles on her face, and her little pony body is definitely in the stages of transitioning between normal mare and the dreaded old hag mare.

"Oh dear, how rude of me! I haven't told you my name! I'm the owner of this fine place, and my name is Palette Dinny!"

"Dinny, huh? Like the name of this place?" you ask.

"Yes sir! This restaurant has been in my family for quite some time, and I'm the current owner. My father used to run this place many years ago, before he retired." Palette says.

You take a quick peak at her ass, and see a cutie mark that looks like a typical printed out schedule. You guess management really does run in the family.

"That's pretty neat, so this place has got some history going for it. I've worked in a couple family-owned places, myself." you reply.

"Oh, really?" Palette asks.

"Yeah. I've been everything from a busboy, to a line cook."

"That's great to hear! Unfortunately, if you're looking to cook for us, we don't have any positions available for you." she says. She kind of looks a little disheartened by saying that.

"That's okay, I'm not here to cook for you to begin with. I couldn't help but notice that what I think was your dishwasher running out. I'd like to wash your dishes for you." you casually say.

Palette is taken aback from the eagerness. She collects herself, and leans in.

"Are you in a bad place at the moment?" she starts, with a somewhat hushed voice. "We would love to have you, but we understand if it gets too tough for you... a lot of ponies can't handle it for more than a few days."

Seriously? A few days? It can't be that bad, can it? You can understand a dishwasher not making it work out within a month, but a few days? How fragile can the ponies of this world even be?

"I've washed dishes for a couple of busy places in my life, how bad could it be?" you say.

"W-well, if you think you're up to it Anonymous, you're more than welcome to work here! Would you mind following me to my office so I can give you a proper interview?" Palette says.

"Alrighty then."

You follow her to her office, a cozy little room with a desk, chair, and a filing cabinet. On the desk, you can see what appears to be a lamp, accounting information, an employee schedule, and a half-empty box of crayons. In the corner of the room, a garbage bin, with what you assume to be multiple employee files inside of it.

Palette told you to wait for a second, leaving you in the room. You also notice a children's coloring book poorly hidden by the desk lamp. Your urge to move the lamp and take a look inside the book was interrupted by Palette coming back in with a seat from one of the tables out front.

"Please, Anonymous! Have a seat!" she says. You oblige.

You and Palette are now sitting down, almost at eye level with each other.

"Anonymous could get to be quite the mouthful, is it okay if I call you Anon?" Palette asks.

"Sure." you say.

"So, uh, how many dishwashers have you had come through here?" you ask.

"You see, Anon, you see, we, uh, we've have about thirty come and go within the past six months." she says.

"You're kidding? Thirty in the past six months?"

"Dishwashing is not for the faint of heart, Anon. Most ponies do it because they have to! Personally I haven't seen many ponies at all choose it as a career choice. It takes a special kind of pony to be able to do that."

You think. Sure, dishwashing isn't a good job by any stretch, but it's honest and straightforward. You thought that these child-like ponies would like having something that simple as a career, but you guess it could've fooled anyone else from your planet. Palette continues talking, breaking your train of thought.

"We've actually got the lowest turnover rate in town, so I guess we're doing pretty fine!"

Hold up, the lowest?

IN TOWN?

You and Palette then get into a conversation about how working for a living is tough, and bond with each other since you both are restaurant-born. After that, she gives you a short interview, asking about your experience in kitchens (with you having to omit many of the non-child friendly moments) and seems like you're a good fit for her business. However, she's confused by one thing.

"Anon, you seem to be qualified for a position as a cook for a fancy place in Canterlot! Tell, me, why are you coming here to work for me?"

You're qualified for a fancy place in this world? This doesn't surprise you. From what you've seen, anyone who has had half of year of experience being the guy put on the drive-thru is worthy of being a diplomat for inter-country affairs.

You don't want to tell her you've been living under a bridge and even if you somehow made it to this Canterlot place, you'd likely get lost and never return. You lean in, and get within a slightly uncomfortable distance to her. Palette freezes. You lean even further, and say into her ear...

"The dishes beckon, and I am their reckoning."

"The dishes beckon, and I am their reckoning."

The words echoed throughout Palette's soul, shaking her down to her very being. The words held such meaning unknown to pony life before they were spoken. Palette wasn't sure of what to say. She swallows.

"Would you be okay starting out, uh, part time?" she asks you.

You lean back. Part time, huh? You weren't sure you could sustain a nice income with only part-time hours.

"How many hours would that bring me?" you ask.

"I don't know if you know this, but part-time here in Equestria is a max of 10 hours a week, silly!" Palette says, now past the horrors of the sentence you had uttered earlier.

"Only 10?" you ask. Palette looks at you with a confused expression on her face.

"Wait, what do you mean only?" she questions.

"Well, to start, part-time where I'm from is a max of like, 30 or 35 hours depending on who hired you. Anything above that is full-time."

Palette, despite sitting down, somehow manages to trip over herself.

"T-that is just crazy, Anon! You can't tell me that you came from a place where part-time is more than TWICE what full-time is here!" she stammers out. Seeing such cartoon childlike horses get so exasperated brings you much joy in a certain deep, dark corner of your mind.

"Well, it's like that back home, and you were lucky to get any benefits at all. One time my previous employer kept me right at the cutoff for full-time just so that I wouldn't get benefits."

Palette is beyond shocked at the information you're telling her. She's struggling to find words to say.

You lean in close to her once more.

"Can I start full-time?"

One thing led to another, and now you are in the dish-pit. Earlier, with the lovely interview, you asked if you could start today to help out in the back. Palette agreed, of course. She also explained that since you're a dishwasher, the pay wouldn't be that glamorous, but you said you didn't mind. As long as you got a paycheck, that's all that mattered to you in the end.

You were also surprised to learn that anything above 15 hours of work is considered full-time. Benefits of working full-time in a restaurant in pony land include a free dentist appointment a year, and enrollment in some handout law in Equestria for those in hard times. Benefits here were a lot simpler and straightforward than back in your home, you've found. You wonder how many ponies actually take up the dentist offer. Do ponies have an equivalent to a 401k?

Since you're a good, hard working young lad, you've decided to work 20 hours a week since you could use money and don't feel bad at all committing "So much of your time to the business!" as Palette put it.

Your thinking is cast aside when you reach the dish pit. You are greeted by a pretty barebones dish pit setup. It's got the standard 3 sink system, with soak, rinse, and sanitize. The middle sink has a sprayer used for knocking shit and food particulate loose. All in all, a pretty decent setup despite how barebones it is. There's even the dry rack set nearby for you to put dishes in, and from what you can see, easily within your reach when you're at the sink.

There's one problem, though. The sink is a bit too low for you to use standing up. You shudder to imagine what kind of back problems you'll have if you use it as-is. You're somewhat of a creative sort so you think up of a solution for the problem at hand.

Nearby, you find a milk crate sitting by its lonesome, being unused. You take the milk crate and put it right in front of the sink. Perfect!

That's right, motherfucker. You're about to be sittin' and dishin' like no one else has done before. You make sure to tell your pony coworkers to just throw the dishes in the soak sink for you.

"Just toss them in the soak sink here. I don't mind if the water splashes on me, I need them soaked, so throw them in!" you tell to each serverhorse that comes by with dirty dishes. Soon, they all get the memo.

Now you have a full soak sink, filled to the brim with hot soapy water and ceramic dishes. There's even some tableware thrown in, too. You reach from the top of the sink, and grab a standard sized pony dish. It's pretty small, about the size you'd put under a single slice of cake's worth. This doesn't seem that hard. You spray it off, inspect it for stains, and put it in the sanitize sink. There's one down, a night's worth to go.

It begins.

Four hours later, and the business is already closed. Here in horse land, they close pretty early because who in their right mind would work past their own dinner time? You thank the heavenly gods above for putting you in a land where 24/7 restaurants aren't even a concept imagined by any living being ever. It's also a nice plus that everything is within arm's reach of you, you rarely have to get up at all. You simply put the dishes on the rack as soon as they're done being sanitized. You don't even think that you even broke a sweat the entire shift.

The dinner rush came and went, and you were never backed up for a single minute. It's a Friday, for Christ's sake! There should have been much more trouble than this, but here you are, with a nearly empty sink. One of the cook ponies put some pots and pans in the soak sink for you, and you knock them out pretty fast by pony standards.

Palette comes up to you while you're washing the last round of dishes. Another cook pony comes by and drops in another load of cookware in your sink.

"Hey Anon, you're doing a great job thus far! How did you get so fast at doing dishes?" she asks.

"Well, you see Palette, they show up in the sink and I simply get them done." you reply.

"Well, at the rate you do dishes, we should be able to go home by nine! Fantastic!" she says, clearly proud of you.

Palette then starts rambling on about how nice it is to have such a fantastic worker under her command, or some shit nobody cares about. It only took you 5 minutes to clear the sink and put everything on the drying racks.

"-and I think you have a shot at being the first dishwasher to last for more than-" Palette rambles.

"I think that's it." you say.

"-hey! It's rude to interr- huh? You're done?"

"Look at it yourself. Sinks are empty, and cleaned. Got all the particulate through the drain, all the dishes put up. I think we are good to go."

Palette, understandably, is shocked. She looks at the clock on the wall with her mouth agape. She then looks back at you, mouth still agape.

"I, uh, w-wha? Huh? It's only 8:07!"

You turn to her.

You say,

"By the way, when's payday?"

She doesn't know what to say. By the looks of it she clearly hasn't seen someone do dishes that fast. She's just staring at the pristine empty sink in front of her. She then looks at the completely full dry racks. She then looks at you.

"P-payday is this upcoming Tuesday, Anon."

"Great! I'll be back tomorrow to wash some more dishes for you. What time?"

"4 o'clock should be good. I know you said earlier that you wanted us to just... pile them up until then. Are you still sure about that?" Palette asks.

"Positive. I like showing up and having something to do." you reply.

Palette nods her head, gives you a concerned, but happy look, and says goodbye. You then walk out, heading back home to your bridge.

You reach the bridge, and are greeted by your lovely little campsite. It ain't much, a makeshift tent right under the bridge itself, a campfire area right by it, and that's pretty much it. You've stayed at this little place for a while. You're just glad you watched a YouTube video back in the old world on making a fire from some sticks. You start a campfire and sit in front of it, watching the fire, and then watching the smoke touch the top of the bridge.

You like how the water than runs under the bridge is potable. You also like that the water is so clean that you can just dunk your clothes in it, and somehow they become perfectly washed. Must be horse logic.

There's not much for you to do during the nighttime, it gets quiet. Not eerily quiet by any means, but it's quiet. There's no hustle and bustle off in the distance near the center of the town, and the only light is from the moon. Why the moon is so bright is a question you find yourself asking a lot. You can see quite clearly even though it's nighttime. Apparently the ponies around these parts regard the moon as a god or something? You couldn't quite tell. All you know is that you're a strange creature in a strange land.

The local ponyfolk got used to having you around quite fast when you first got here. The worst that happened is sometimes one or two will give you an odd look here and there, but from what you can tell there's a whole bunch of sapient creatures in this dimension or something. You're probably no weirder than the minotaurs or griffins they see on a regular basis. You've had to explain what you are to a couple here and there, and just like that, the word spread and now you're known as the residential human. As far as you can tell, you're not all that important in the grand scheme of things, and to some that may bring sadness, for you it brings gladness. It means you can do your own thing here.

You're sitting in front of your campfire in deep thought, reflecting on everything that has transpired up to this point. You're not sure how you got here, and you're also not sure of what you were doing before you got here. All you know is that you just... appeared. It probably doesn't matter anyway. The only things that came with you from your old world is the clothing that was on you. Your shoes, a white t-shirt, jeans, socks, and underwear. You're kind of glad you don't have your phone. Seeing the photos on there would make you miss the old world more and make you more sad. What would make you even more sad is seeing the battery drain to a point where you'd no longer be able to view the photos. Thankfully, now you have a job to take your mind off things.

You think of Palette Dinny. You think of how she owns the restaurant, and you think of all the trouble she has to go through with hiring and re-hiring dishwashers. If dishwashers have such bad turnover, why is the work so menial? You chalk it up to the eerie childishness of the miniature horses that reside here. You're not even sure if most of them know how babies are made. You wonder what would happen if you told one how babies are made.

You want to tell one how babies are made.

You strip to your undies, and then enter your tent. It's got enough room for one human body and a sleeping bag. You get in the sleeping bag (you found it when you got to the bridge, lucky find!) and drift off to sleep.

You wake up and you poke your head out of the tent. You are greeted by a lovely sunshine and birds chirping. You find it strange how most every morning in this place is perfect. It kind of weirds you out, but hey, it hasn't killed you so you don't have a big issue with it. A rain on the bridge wouldn't kill to wake up to.

You get up, get out of your tent, put on your clothes, and stretch. You look at the clock tower in the distance to find that it is indeed noon. So, like, 4 hours away from your next shift. Your new problem is finding out something to do until then.

You don't know any ponyfolk around you, so you figure your best option is to just sit on top of the bridge and occasionally say hello to anyone who happens to pass by. You make your way around the bridge, walk up it halfway, and chill out.

2 hours have passed and nobody showed up. You figure that's what you get for living under a bridge in the quiet part of town. You're feeling kind of hungry, but you'll make do until work tonight. You can more than likely bum a meal off the owners since you haven't got paid yet. You wonder if that's morally right.

You discard those thoughts, and set off into town. You're not concerned with anyone coming by and stealing your stuff, there's nothing there to steal to begin with. You know that most people in this place fear going to prison. You're honestly surprised that you haven't broken any laws yet. You wonder if being homeless is against the law.

Speaking of the law, you happen to pass a police officer pony on your jaunt through town. The police officer is a male, blue pony (figures) and wears a darker blue vest with a cop's hat on his little pony head. He's got a jet black mane & tail, and his ass-mark is what appears to be a traffic ticket of some kind. What's the deal with these horses and pieces of paper on their ass?

"Hello, officer!" you greet.

"Greetings, citizen! Staying out of trouble?" the officer pony asks.

"Yes sir!" you reply.

"Good! Hey, since you're here, you want one of my donuts?" the police officer asks, pulling out a box from nowhere. Why, that's nice of him!

"Why, that's awful nice of you! I thought cops wanted their donuts more than anything." you say.

"Heh, yeah, well, I bought more than what I thought I wanted. I can't finish this box on my own!" he says.

"Well, luckily for you, I'm a bit peckish. I'll gladly take whatever you don't want."

The cop reaches in the box, and hands you what appears to be a regular glazed donut. You bite into it, only to find that it's actually one made out of cake batter.

"The cake ones fill me up so much! It was crazy of me to even consider buying them! Anyways, run along now, I've got my duties to uphold!" police pony says. You thank him for the donut and continue walking.

That donut hit the spot! You wonder if you're going to run into the officer again. This is a cozy town, after all. Might be a good thing to ask him about some of the laws when you see him again. You're thinking about it, and now you're confident that officer's day completely consists of eating donuts and pretending to look tough. You sit on a bench in a busy area, and just look at all the foot traffic going by.

Time passes, and now it's time for you to show up to work. You duck your head, and walk through the front doors, and are greeted by a couple of the server ponies as you enter. You don't like pony door heights. You go straight to the back, and are greeted by a sink filled with dishes. You also notice a trolley nearby with another sink's amount of dishes in it as well.

Time to slay some dishes.

You get to work, and make a steady pace of washing dishes. The front of house must be busy, because you're getting a significantly higher amount of dishes being tossed in your sink compared to yesterday. This isn't a problem for you, however. Pony dishes are not intricate by any sense, which makes them very easy to clean. It also helps you that the dishes happen to be smaller than standard human-sized dishes.

Soon enough, after 30 minutes, you're completely caught up. Any dishes that are tossed in your soak sink are quickly dealt with and you're left with the sound of a busy restaurant from out front. You miss having a speaker. Hell, even a rudimentary radio would be nice to have. You're also content with just sitting there with your thoughts.

A break in the dinner rush means that there is a break for the front of house ponies. You're soon greeted by the same yellow serverhorse that got you access to the job from yesterday.

"Hi Anon!" she says.

"Hello, yellow server horse." you say.

"That's not my name, silly!" she replies. You don't really care much for names. In your history, the only names you remembered were names of important people and those in charge of you. You remember getting reamed by an angry server one time when you were working as a line cook all because you couldn't remember her name... fun stuff.

"Whatcha up to?" yellow serverhorse says.

"Sittin'." you say.

"Lucky! Well, not really, since you're the one washing our dishes."

"Well, it seems like if I want to make my time here last, I gotta have my milk crate here to sit on while I do dishes. Your pony sinks are a bit small compared to where I'm from. This gig isn't so bad." you say.

"You must have a bunch of dishwashing experts from where you're from!" yellow serverhorse says with a smile. She's not wrong, in fact, where you're from, while dishwashing was high turnover, there was always someone willing to do it. They weren't experts by any means, they were just usually fueled with eternal rage and a metric shit ton of cocaine.

"Nah, humans like me are simply built different." you reply. Yellow serverhorse was about to talk to you more, but the bell signifying an order is ready to be moved out interrupted her. She said a quick bye, and scurried out to the front to move.

Soon after, another round of dishes was now in your sink, and you get to work. The zen consumes your soul, and you find that the hours are already up and it's the end of the night once again. Time flies when you're sat in a single space for a few hours, huh? You finish up, look at the clock, and notice that it's 8:15. A little slower than yesterday, but still fast by pony standards. Palette comes by, using her strange pony magic to hold up a small stack of papers and a crayon.

"Just thought I'd come by and check up on how you're doing, Anon! So, how's everything? Getting along okay with the sink?" Palette says. You sneak a glimpse of the papers that Palette is holding up with that magicky stuff. It's your employee papers!

"Yeah, it's been treating me alright." you reply.

"I'm just happy that you're finding the job okay! You don't seem like you're phased by it at all!"

"Well, it's just washing dishes. It's gotta be done, no need to cry over it." you reply.

"I don't think I've seen anypony with such an aptitude for washing dishes! You know what they say, it is the toughest job in the kitchen!" Palette pipes.

"Good thing I'm, uh, tough enough for it, right?" you say. Palette is clearly giddy that you're working for her. She turns, and puts your employee papers back in her office, all without going there physically! This magic stuff freaks you out man. She turns back to you, to find your eyes still staring at the corner where she took the papers 'round magically. She speaks up, and you focus back on her.

"The real test comes when you finish out your work week! I'm honestly surprised you wanted to work every day when we're open, Anon! Not too many have the resolve to do that, but we'll see how you do when Tuesday comes around!" she says.

"What happens Tuesday?" you ask.

"You get paid, of course! Oh, we're closed that day, too." Palette says. "I think I forgot to tell you, we're closed on Tuesday and Wednesday because it's just not worth being open then. Business is too slow for those days."

That makes a lot of sense. Opens up a lot of opportunity for pony rest time, but that just raises more questions.

"Say, Palette, how many hours a week do you work?"

"About as much as you're going to be! Why do you ask?"

"Ah, so you're not here all the time?" you say.

"As much as I would like that, I just couldn't keep up with it. I have a morning manager around for breakfast and lunch, and sometimes we swap it around so it's fair," Palette explains. "I'm sure you two would get along just fine! He works dinner shifts on Thursdays, so I think that's when you'll get your chance to meet him outside of payday."

"How does payday work?" you ask.

"You just show up on Tuesday, and we hand you your bits, silly! The same as most places here in Equestria." Palette says. You're reminded of how the currency of this place is in coins, and you dread having to lug around a sack. You don't remember seeing any coins that are higher denominations than just a singular unit. You make a mental note to get a chest of some form to lock them up with.

"Well, thanks for the answers. I'm sure I'll have more questions for you in the future. Dishes are done, so I'm gonna head back to my bri- home. I'm heading home." you say. You don't want to tell Palette you live a life as a troll under a bridge. You don't want to run the risk of anyone disturbing your peaceful bridge troll life. You've come to like that bridge.

"Oh, before I forget, do you mind if I ask the cooks to whip me up something to eat? I'm starving."

"Sure, Anon! You'll have to wash the dishes they use, though."

"That's fine."

After getting the cooks to whip you up something (they don't trust you with the cooking equipment just yet) you enjoy a nice entree in the dining room of the restaurant. Since all the tables had the chairs put on them, you sat at one of the booths. As for your food, the only piece of equipment they still had running was the grill, so it's a Dinny's classic grilled cheese combo with a grilled potato side. Not bad!

You examine your environment. Sure is a strange feeling, this room was just full of customers not too long ago. Now it's all cleaned. The feet of the chairs point up at the ceiling, put upside down on top of the tables. You liked being out in dining rooms when it was like this. You remember fond memories of walking out to the dining room after close, and shouting nonsense just because you could. You have a strong urge to yell out "ASS!" but you don't because Palette is still in her office doing some paperwork of some kind. You have a sneaking suspicion she's just coloring in that color book you noticed from the night before.

Hot damn, that's a slappin' nice grilled cheese you got. This place ain't too shabby. You thank the gods above for free employee meals. They just hit different than paying for them! These magic grills do work wonders.

You finish your meal, and do your dishes as a good citizen would. You and Palette just happen to leave at the same time. She heads off in the opposite direction that you were going, and waves at you as you walk home. You get to your comfy troll bridge campsite after a short walk. You do your nightly routine, and head off into dreamland.

That night, you have had a strange dream with some weird blue pony that's bigger than the average pony. Too bad you didn't care enough to remember it as soon as you woke up.

You wake up. You usually get up around the same time, your guess is that the current time is plus or minus 30 minutes from noon. You wonder why it's so easy to get up in this world. Might be something in the water.

You do your routine of freshening up the best you can, and reflect a little.

It's day three of working as a dishwasher in pony land. You're definitely getting into the groove now.

According to your schedule, you are to work 5 days a week, 4 hours a day. Back on home world, this would never have seemed to be a large amount by any means, but in this land, it's a full-time commitment. Palette says you're making a living wage, supposedly. You'll be the judge of that. You were surprised to learn that all employees at Dinny's got paid on a weekly basis, and that the pay was not staggered. This means that you're getting the exact amount of money you made for a given week.

You've never experienced this before. This feels good to you. The best part is, you get TWO days off! That's right, you, Anon, get TWO days off of toiling away in the pits! You mean, sure, it's only because of the business closing down on the slowest days. You could have had more time off, but after hearing about the turnover and the fact that they had no dishwashers on hand, you opted to work there every day that they're open.

You get up, head out, and dawdle about in town.

You could have sworn that nobody gave you any strange looks in town. You guess that word got out and now the local townsfolk have some respect for you now that some of them know you have a job. You're definitely sure Palette said something good about you to someone and that caused a collective lightening of the local's mood of you.

You're just glad you'll be able to exchange currency for goods and services come Tuesday. As of right now, however, it's Sunday, and it's another 4 hours in the dish pit. 4 hours a day means almost nothing to you. You were used to working clopens, 12 hour shifts, all without an "attaboy" at the end to keep your spirits up. You're not sure if this is heaven, but it sure does feel like it. You also take solace in the knowledge of a guaranteed paycheck. Ponies aren't one to lie often, and when they do, they're poor at it.

You think your coworkers are a little bit afraid of you, however. Who wouldn't be? In comes this strange creature that's capable of doing menial dishwork without even breaking a sweat, or breaking down into tears at the end of every shift. To them, you're either a superhuman... pony, or someone who has lost their marbles long ago.

Sundays have always been easy days, even on Earth. Traffic just isn't that busy during dinner time, and the only time that the restaurant struggles on Sundays is the brunch crowd. You're not even sure there's any churches in town, you haven't seen any. Why do these ponies worship their sun and moon gods without places of worship? It makes no sense!

Your thoughts are interrupted as you head in to begin your easy shift. When you walk in, you're greeted by a dish pit that isn't all that full. Looks like you're in for a day of mostly idling in front of the dish pit with nobody to bother you. 2 hours in, sadly, you're bothered by a certain yellow serverhorse.

"Hey Anon, how come you're able to stick your..." yellow serverhorse begins.

"Hand?" you say.

"Yeah! Right! Hand... in the soapy water? It's too hot!" she says.

You look at the soak sink. It never really was all THAT hot. It was maybe hot enough to feel sort of sting-y the second you put your hand in. They struggle with this?

Yellow serverhorse continues talking.

"Whenever it's just been filled, I'm so scared to even put my plates in because sometimes it makes a splash, and then I get that super hot water on me!"

You raise your hand in response. Yellow serverhorse looks at you with anticipation.

"It's simple, really." you say. The soak sink is freshly filled up, so that means it's currently at its hottest. "I just take my hand, and..."

You aim your hand at the sink and place it in without making so much as a single splash. Some would call it the perfect dive. Yellow serverhorse flinches for a second, then looks at your hand that's slightly submerged in the water. She's currently breathing heavily. You hear a couple of drops of water hit the floor, but you ignore it. Yellow serverhorse is blushing, but you didn't notice.

"Y-you don't even have any fur! H-how?" yellow serverhorse stammers out.

"I dunno, man. I'm built different." you reply.

The day continues.

Now the day is ending soon! Yellow serverhorse brought some of the staff with her to stick around and watch you do your magic. The staff includes most of the front of house, with some of the cooks mixed in. You hear them talking right behind you.

"I haven't seen anypony work that fast!"

"How is he able to do that?"

"Be a good pony... be a good pony..."

Yellow serverhorse speaks up from the crowd of technicolor ponies behind you.

"Hey Anon, show everypony here what you showed me earlier!"

You lazily put your hand in the hot, soapy water. This earns you a few surprised gasps, and even a couple of cheers.

"Wow! He sure is tough to be able to do that!"

"I'd hate to mess with him!"

"How'd he do that?"

Yellow serverhorse turns around to the talking group of server ponies.

"See? He just tells me he's built different, or something like that! It's amazing!" yellow serverhorse tells them. This amount of praise sure does fill your soaking body with vigor! Then, another one of the ponies speak up to you.

"So, Anon, when are you going to quit?" one says. You stop what you're doing suddenly, and this causes the crowd of ponies to go silent. You turn around. The sound of empty restaurant fills the room.

"What do you mean, quit?" you ask.

"W-well, we haven't had a dishwasher go at it like you have, so you must be feeling pretty burnt out, right?" one of the cooks ask. Oh, right. They haven't had a dedicated dishwasher before.

"What do you mean? I haven't even gotten started." you say. You hear a couple of gasps from the crowd of fellow coworkers. Exasperated ponies bring you much joy.

"You're not going to be leaving us?" another one asks.

"Not until someone starts paying me more to go wash their dishes, no." you say. You get a couple of cheers from that.

"Yay! We have a dishwasher that's good at his job!" another says.

This is laughably easy.

You finish up for the day, say your goodbyes, and head back to your troll bridge headquarters. You gather some sticks and start up another campfire. Fire is nice to have in this pony land.

As you're looking at the open flame, you enjoy the lack of unpleasant nights. It's quiet and serene. It's just you, your tent, the fire, and the stream of water under the bridge. Nice!

You head off to sleep soon after.

A night of sleep happens, of which you slept rather well.

It's Monday!

You wake up, an easy task set forth in this magical pony land. The grass is growing, the birds are singing, and the sun is shining. The first thought that comes to your mind is what would happen if you kicked a pony. Would they explode into confetti, or would they be immediately bloody and bruised? You don't think about how concerning this thought is to you.

The other thing on your mind is the fact that your pubic hairs are growing, and that's kind of nasty. At least it helps with chafing. You're still on a passive hunt for a razor. You're sure the beard on your face is kind of disgraceful to someone out there.

You get up, dress up, and splash some water on your face from the stream.

Your clothes will soon get old enough to the point of complete failure, so you make a mental note to make an attempt to get some new ones tailored for you somewhere when you have the cash. Do ponies even wear clothes? You sure do like having your trusty pair of jeans, and you're not sure what you're going to do when the crotch area eventually splits.

You check your hands. Yup, they're still there, and yup, there's some skin peeling off your fingertips. Maybe pony land has a magical cream for this sort of stuff. You're just glad that your hands haven't completely melted away from the constant submersion yet, but you do know it will become a problem in the future.

There's no morning dishwasher at Dinny's, so you're stuck with the entirety of the day's dishes whenever you enter. It's not like it's a big deal or anything, they're simple, small, and easy to clean. Huh, you realize that have a monopoly on their dishes.

Alright, enough sitting on your ass. Time for a jaunt!

The shitty morning part of the story is now over, and now you're currently walking at a leisurely pace through town. You are quite entertained just by the normal sights themselves. You never really got to do this back on Earth, since whenever you were outside you were in a car. Too much attention on the road and too little on everything else. You miss your Corolla.

Speaking of roads and traffic, there's now a pony directly on your ass.

"Move faster, please! You're interrupting my trotty time!" the pony cries out. The path is clearly wide enough for two living beings to walk side-by-side.

You keep your pace. Without looking behind you, you speak up.

"Can't you just pass me?"

"No! you have to get out of the way!" the pony says. Judging from the tone and pitch of the voice, you assume that it is a mare. This may be the same mare that's been harassing your ass every time you take this path.

"Look, missy, there's more than enough space for the two of us here. Just pass, please." you reply.

"NO! I WANT YOU GET GET OUT OF THE WAY NOW!" the mare shrieks. A tantrum? In your walk? Excuse you? You stop and turn around. Your towering height over the little pony becomes obvious as you notice your shadow completely covering the little shit.

You squat down, and get face-to-face with this mare. This mare appears to be blue, and a regular pony without those wings or that horn. She looks at you with contempt.

"You overtake on the left." you say.

"I want to go faster! You're ruining this path!" she exclaims.

"Then just... pass me!" you say, a little louder. The mare flinches a little at the show of aggression. She holds her ground, however.

"No! I want this side! This is my side!" she says, stamping her hoof on the ground.

Jesus Christ. You scratch the back of your head. This is always the deal with this one. For a second, you're reminded of the assholes tailgating you in the slow lane when there's no other traffic on the highway. You figure the best option at this point is the simplest one.

You stretch your arms out, and strike a scary pose.

"Boo!" you shout, hoping that this'll run her off. It worked the past two times and hopefully it'll work again.

"T-that won't work on me this time! I know you're just a slowpoke who wants to ruin my morning routine!" she says. You tire of her insolence.

"Screw off, then." you say. The mare is left there, red-faced and flabbergasted at your foul language, and is now babbling incoherently. You hope that foul language isn't illegal. She's too busy fumbling around with her existence, and now you're safe to continue your jaunt as normal. Good lord.

Fast forward to working time, you show up do Dinny's for your usual bout of washing the dishes. You duck your head before entering the building to avoid hitting your forehead on the door frame. As you walk in through the door, you are greeted by a couple of your coworkers. You are then greeted by a familiar face! It's the ass-riding mare from earlier.

You walked in, and got greeted by your coworkers! This seemed to set the little blue ass-rider in a bad mood. You noticed this expression when you glanced out from the back of house after getting your apron on. You don't really care. It's dish time and this stupid shit won't get in your way for it.

Time to go to dish planet!

You are washing dishes.

You are washing some more dishes.

You are washing a few more dishes.

You are washing dishes on the clock, yeah!

You find yourself in a peaceful state of mind. The new dishes to be washed coming in, the clink and clank of ceramic touching each other, the restaurant's florescent lighting all over the place...

There's a simply beauty about it. Too bad because you just ran out of dishes to wash. It's a Monday now, so unfortunately the restaurant simply just isn't as busy as the weekend. Days like these make you thankful you have a nice little milk crate to hunch down on. Instead of wasting time and energy spent standing, you're chilling in front of the dish pit. You miss restaurant-grade dishwashing machines from your old world. They were cool as hell. They'd offer you more time to sit.

Oh, would you look at that! It's yellow serverhorse!

"How's it hanging yellow serverhorse?" you say. Yellow serverhorse is concerned.

"I have a name, Anon! My name is-" she says, but gets interrupted by new dishes being thrown in the sink by a careless employee. Some hot water splashed up, and just as it was about to splash yellow serverhorse a tiny bit, you raise your arm to block it. The water harmlessly drips off your forearm. Yellow serverhorse noticed this a second after it all happened, and now looks extremely flushed.

"Wow, Anon! That was quick! I-I-I could have gotten splashed right there!" she stammers out. After she says that, you hear a loud drip from somewhere behind her. Looks like some might have went over, huh? Yellow serverhorse is breathing a bit heavy now. You pat her head out of habit (fucking cats) and this seems to make her forget about telling you her name.

"It's all good, yellow serverhorse, I got fast reflexes." you say.

Before you can interact more with her, Palette calls to you from the front to go grab something for her. You get up, grab the napkin or spoon or whatever she wanted, and head back to your pit. Yellow serverhorse is gone now. You'd be more concerned if you didn't have dishes to do, so you get up and head back out front to see if any tables don't want their dishes any more.

As you're collecting some dishes for various ponies out front, and with said ponies being absolutely shocked at the idea of someone willingly taking dishes to wash, you now have a small stack of dishes in your arm. You eventually get to a table with a familiar looking mare...

Oh, right! It's the tailgating cunt! She notices you rather quickly, considering you're a tall creature in this world. It's time for some uncomfortable customer service. You don your toothiest grin, and head over to her table. You approach her rather closely, her breath now on the dirty dishes you are holding in your hands.

"Howdy there! May I take any dishes you aren't currently using, sweetie?" you say.

The tailgating mare hunches down, barely missing the table under her, and is now profusely blushing. You hear her mutter something under her breath. You couldn't hear what she said, so you leaned in a little further.

"I'm sorry ma'am, what did you say? My hearing's not the greatest, so I apologize." you say in the most soulless voice you could muster.

She eventually raises her head up, not making eye contact with you. As she is blushing and staring forward, she finally speaks.

"S-sure. Okay. Go ahead." she says.

You take her dishes, put it on your stack, and head back to wash them.

The rest of the night passes by uneventfully. The final bout of dishes and kitchenware hits you right at closing time, and as per usual, you knock it out quick. Palette approaches you.

"You know, Anon, we haven't had a dishwasher as good as you before! I just wanted to give you my praise before you go!" she says. Your heart flutters. Aw, shit. You're a good worker.

Atta boy! Your spirits are officially raised now.

You speak.

"That means more than what you can imagine, Palette." you say. Palette smiles. You now have a burning question in your mind.

"Hey Palette..." you start. Palette looks at you.

"When's payday?" you finish. Palette looks concerned.

After she hesitantly answered that important question, you head back home to troll bridge head quarters. You're really excited to have some cash of your own now. You might even get some money together to gain more clothes to wear. A true rich man has not one, but two pairs of blue jeans. Do ponies even have denim? As you drift off to sleep under that tent of yours, you ponder about how you're going to spend your money.

The next day, you head to the restaurant.

You remember Palette telling you the restaurant is closed on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. You imagine what life would be like back on Earth if places just shut down like that on a regular basis. The poor little souls in this world get to have guaranteed rest and time off from work. Now, you're one of them!

You wonder how anyone in this land even stays at their job for longer than a short stint. You think it's probably something to do with their ass-marks... cutie marks? It's like they're toys or something. Maybe if they tattoo their ass it becomes motivation to not quit? Could they even handle a tattoo needle on their skin?

You are now at the restaurant! You head up to the doors, open them up and head right-

Oh, shit. You bumped your head on the door frame. It hurts real bad for a second, then fades into a dull pain. You reach your arm up and feel the spot where the door hit you. There's a slight bump there now. You've hit your head before, and you were hoping avoid it happening again, but accidents do happen.

The ponies inside the building didn't know that you've hit your head before. The inside of the restaurant goes quiet for a few moments after you hit your head. Everyone is looking at you. Yellow serverhorse moves first, rushing to your side.

"Anon! Are you okay? That looked like it hurt REAL BAD!" she yips out.

You're rubbing the spot on your head, not noticing everyone in the room is slowly advancing to you.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just got a bump. Gotta watch out for those doors, you know?" you say. Yellow serverhorse is right by you, on the verge of tears. You look around to find you're completely surrounded with babbling ponies. Everyone in the restaurant is around you now, on the verge of tears like yellow serverhorse. Palette is here, too. She gets closer to you from within the circle.

"Oh, Celestia!" Palette says, sniffing. "Anon, you don't have to act tough for us, we've all had booboos before!"

Your legs are now embraced in the hug of multicolor ponies. Everyone, EVERYONE is crying. Sobs are surrounding your very being as your personal space is being violated. You didn't mind all the hug that much, pony hugs are extremely soft. You just wish you weren't currently being soaked in a river of tears and snot.

The horde of ponies caressing your physical form and trying to climb up to your face sends you into a spiral of confusion. Why... why is everyone crying? Why are they crying so hard over a small bump? Why are they trying to climb you like a mountain?

"NOT ANON! NOT OUR POOR DISHPONY! HE SHOULDN'T HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS PAIN!" you hear one of your coworkers cry out somewhere in the pile.

Between sobbing and screaming, you shout from within the pile.

"G-guys! I'm fine! You can get off of me now!" you holler. A symphony of equestrian wailing is your response. The whole situation is getting kind of gross. Your jeans are now rather damp, and you feel it start to get slightly sticky. The soft pony pile became a pile of tears and torment.

"We feel your pain, Anon! Let it out! It's okay! Do you need a doctor?" Yellow serverhorse shouts up at you from your leg.

What a strange sight and experience! Ponies cuddled up to your legs, crying because you got hurt, and you're stuck here because there's about 20 of them here. The floor is a crying mass of technicolor. You think about what your dad would say if he saw you in this predicament. After a minute or two, they all let go of you while still sniffing.

Palette recovers the quickest, and she clears her throat. This sends the whole room back into quiet, a pleasant turn of events for you.

"Alright, everypony! I'm so proud of you for showing your support to Anon. Let's give him his first pay!" she says, really happy now. Cheers fill the room, with everyone forgetting that they were just crying a moment prior. What's the deal with groups in this world and cheering at everything? They all back up, as Palette brings out a pouch with coins in it.

"You're earned this one, Anon! Thank you for what you're doing for us!" Palette says, presenting the bag to you in a field of magic. Everyone else smiling and nodding their heads, and going "uh huh!" in agreement.

You're standing there dumbfounded. But hey, look! Money is in front of you! You grab the pouch, and watch as the glow of magic from it dissipates the second you grab it.

"Uh... thanks. I'll be back here Thursday." you say, wearing a confused look on your face. Everyone is fine now.

"Guess I better get going, see ya." you add.

"Where are you going Anon? Don't you want to hang out with us for a little while?" Yellow serverhorse says to you.

"No thanks, back where I'm from choosing your place of work as a hangout spot isn't good practice." you reply.

"What? Why? Payday's my favorite day because I get to talk to my coworkers and not worry about my duties!" Yellow serverhorse says.

"I'd love to stay, I really would, but I got to get home and count this out." you say.

Palette speaks up.

"If you need anything Anon, just let us know! And be sure to stop by the doctor to get your booboo checked out!" Palette says. Heh, booboo.

"I'll be sure to." you reply, anxious about getting out now. You don't want to stay here for much longer. You have to wash the tears and snot from your jeans as soon as you can. As you turn to walk out the door, you turn around because there actually is something you need right now.

"Oh, before I leave, Palette?" you say. She looks at you.

"Yes, Anon?" she asks.

"When's payday?"

You get home after confirming to your manager that you don't have memory loss from hitting your head. You just keep forgetting when payday is. You're not good with names either. You're currently sitting in front of your tent. Time to count some coins!

Yup, these are golden bits, alright. You're not sure how valuable they are compared to the superior currency (USD) but you assume they're close to a dollar from the times you've managed to use them. You begin counting, and eventually come to a total of 300 bits. Hey, that isn't bad for only 4 days of work!

Wait a minute...

If you do the math... 300 divided by four, and then the result of that divided by four... shit, you're not that great with numbers. You sure do wish you had a calculator or a pen and pencil handy.

After a short while of deliberation you come to the conclusion that you're currently earning almost 19 bits an hour. 19 BITS AN HOUR! Back from where you're from, you're lucky to hit even 12 dollars an hour in a kitchen! And here you are, making the equivalent to 19 dollars an hour washing dishes! Gee, when you're working 5 days in a week that'll mean you'll be able to live pretty comfortably! It's a shame that you're not working a 40 hour workweek! Does this mean you can afford a new place to sleep?

No more living in a tent under a bridge?

...

Hell no! Bridge life is the best life! But... you do miss having a flat floor to walk on.

You also miss having a sink...

You miss having a washing machine...

You miss having basic utilities...

You figure the time to go look for a place to live in is nearing soon. You might be able to rent a room somewhere, but you're not too keen on living with roommates.

You think you'll just have an easier time piling up your money for now. You'll figure out the details of storing money at the campsite later. Who knows? Maybe a good opportunity will show itself to you soon. For now, though, it's time to engage in the best part of capitalism. Spending your hard earned money! Before you even consider moving in somewhere, you're going to find some god damn luxury.

You jerry rig your pouch of money to your belt, tying it to your pants' belt loop. There's gotta be a better way, but for now this will do. You have an idea of how first to spend your money, and that idea involves going to a bar. You remember seeing a place on one of your jaunts.

You travel across town to find the place you remembered seeing. You arrive, and assess the sight that greets your eyes. Looks like a saloon-type thing. You walk in and are greeted by the sight of a bar, stools, and a relatively empty room. there's a couple of ponies here and there sitting in booths by the walls, and there isn't anyone at the bar itself. Perfect!

You take a seat, and the bartender pony takes notice of you.

"Welcome to our bar! I haven't seen you come in here before, glad you've decided to give us a try! What can I getcha?" the bartender asks. You examine the bartender. Male, grey coat, black mane, and an older gentleman. He even has a mustache, a rare site in this world.

"What's the strongest stuff you got?" you ask.

"The strongest stuff? We do have some Sweet Apple Acres cider if you're looking for something strong." he says.

"Cider? How strong is this cider?"

"Well mister, a single mug is usually enough to get somepony a buzz, if you're up to that." the bartender explains. Huh, this might not be as bad as you were thinking. You're thankful ponies have some form of alcohol. But why is cider the strongest that they've got?

"Yeah, I'll have a mug." you say.

"Comin' right up!" the bartender replies.

The bartender stands still, staring at you. You feel slightly uncomfortable. You look away for a second, and then look back to be startled by a mug being placed right in front of you. The mug doesn't look that big by your standards by any means, it's only about 10 fluid ounces. Must be either pony sizes or the stuff is so strong that you can only have it in 10 ounce increments. Still, alcohol is alcohol! You gotta scratch that itch.

You take a sip, and are immediately disappointed. You're not even sure this is alcohol.

"Hey man, you sure something isn't off about this?" you ask to the bartender. The bartender looks at you funnily, and then chuckles.

"Why? Too strong for you, sonny?" he says. You take another swig.

"This isn't strong at all." you say. The stuff just tastes like regular old apple cider. It's good, really good, but not alcohol by any means. The bartender's face goes to a neutral look, and then to a concerned one.

"That can't be right, this is fresh from the barrel. Lemme take a look..." the bartender says. The bartender grabs a small glass with his hoof (you're not sure how ponies can grab stuff like that) and pours out some cider in the glass from a barrel mounted behind him. He drinks from the glass, and then looks back at you.

"Son, I don't know what you're on about, but this is perfectly normal." he says.

What?

"You're telling me that this has alcohol in it?" you say. This earns you a shocked look from the bartender.

"A-alcohol? What kind of place do you come from where they serve that cleaning stuff in a drink?" the bartender asks you, clearly confused and concerned.

"When I said strong, I meant stuff that's supposed to, you know, get me silly?" you say.

"This does getcha silly! It's got the tang that gets ponies crazy about it!" the bartender says.

You give the bartender a serious look. He can't be serious, can he?

"The flavor is so strong that it gets folk worked up about it! Why would anypony ever drink that awful alcohol stuff?" the bartender adds. You finish your glass. Goddamnit.

"I guess you wouldn't know. How much do I owe you?"

You pay, leave, and go back to your tent under the bridge. Fucking horses and their lack of alcohol. Of course they wouldn't have that stuff. You paid a pretty hefty price for that small of a drink, 9 bits was way too much. The bartender told you some bullshit about how it's not cider season and the stuff comes at a premium this time of year. You stopped caring the second you sat in front of your ashy campfire spot.

As you're chilling, you considered figuring out how to make moonshine and then make a little operation under your bridge. You're sure that if any fuzz show up, you can give some bullshit about how you're making a strong cleaning agent for a friend. Your deliberations are interrupted by someone calling out to you.

"Anon? Hey! Anon! Hi!" you hear. Sounds like a mare. You look up, and the face greeting you from up there is none other than yellow serverhorse herself.

"Hey, yellow serverhorse!" you call up to her.

"MY NAME IS NOT- uh, what are you doing under the bridge?" she asks.

"Chillin'."

Yellow serverhorse runs down around the side of the bridge to get closer to you. As she gets down, she's wide-eyed and looking at every detail of your little camp.

"Wow! Are you camping here?" she asks. You considered lying to her and telling her that this is just a hang out for you, but you somewhat respect her so you decide to tell the truth.

"Yeah, don't have a house or apartment yet so I'm out here til' I get the money to have a place of my own." you say.

"T-that's terrible Anon! I have a spare room in my apartment you can crash in!" yellow serverhorse says.

She dares to insinuate that your living conditions are bad? This wench dares to ask you to leave your troll bridge? Your troll bridge that you didn't work all that hard for?

Fair enough. This is pony world after all, and this is probably her just being nice.

"Hey, yellow serverhorse, I appreciate the offer and all, but why would you just let some stranger into your home?" you ask.

"I know you're no stranger, Anon! I'd be happy to help somepony in need!"

"Yeah, that may be true, but aren't you worried about... fishy business going on?" you say.

Yellow serverhorse pauses. She looks clearly puzzled. It's almost as if the thought had never occurred to her before now.

"What kind of fishy business?" she asks, looking at you with an inquisitive expression. Oh boy.

"You know, some random guy coming in your house, taking stuff?" you reply.

"S-stealing? You wouldn't do that, Anon! That's what puts ponies in..." she pauses, looks all around to make sure no one is listening and then continues, "jail!"

"I'm not saying that I'd steal from you, I'm just saying that I've only worked at Dinny's for... a week tops, probably? We hardly know each other." you say.

"But Anon! We're friends!" she says.

One thing led to another, and you are now packing up what possessions you have (haphazardly) to head over to wherever yellow serverhorse lives. You don't have that many belongings, and you're able to carry everything at the campsite save for the campfire in both arms. You feel like Paul Bunyan holding two trees in each arm.

"Come on, Anon! My house is this way!"

You follow yellow serverhorse, possessions in tow, to her home on the other side of town. As you're walking, yellow serverhorse looks at you, ready to say something.

"Hey Anon, how are you able to carry all that stuff? We've been going for like 10 minutes now and you don't look like you've broke a sweat!" she says.

"I told you before dude, I'm built different from ponies." you say.

"Who built you?"

"I'm not some robot, I was born like a normal person." you reply.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

The walk continues at a comfortable pace. Yellow serverhorse is by your left side, occasionally looking at you but not saying anything. She then has another thing to say.

"Anon? You're smart, right?" she asks.

"About as smart as your average Joe, I suppose." you say.

"Joe?"

"Just a thing we say back where I'm from."

"Well, since you're so smart..." yellow serverhorse says. "...do you know where babies come from?"

What the fuck? What kind of person just asks that out of the blue? You find this pretty funny and start laughing. That question caught you off-guard.

"You're telling me you don't know?" you ask, still exhaling air from your nostrils.

"Yeah! As a filly, I kept getting told I'll know when I was older! Between me and the other servers, we've no clue! I thought you might know since you're so g-grown up compared to us!" yellow serverhorse says.

"Jesus Christ yellow serverhorse... how old ARE you?" you ask. She seems a little confused with the first part of that sentence, but answers your question all the same.

"You couldn't tell? I'm 19 already!" she says. For a brief second you consider the differences in life spans between humans and horses, but if that were to apply here it wouldn't make sense. You're sure you'd see the tiny ones growing more rapidly. You assume that she really is the equivalent to a college freshman.

"So... you're 19 years old, and you have no idea where babies come from? Are you sure you're not fucking with me?" you say. Yellow serverhorse flinches heavily upon the dropping of the word fuck.

"A-Anon! Language! You don't want a police officer to get you for saying that!"

"What's he gonna do? He can't even tell me where babies come from." you reply. This actually puts yellow serverhorse in deep thought for a second, it seemed like upon hearing this new information she forgot about your cursing transgression.

"So... you're the only one who knows?" she asks. You have to stop yourself from laughing as you reply.

"I'm sure I'm not the only one who knows. But I do know. I still can't believe you're telling me that full grown adults working a job don't know where babies come from."

"Well, yeah! We don't know! I wouldn't lie to you, Anon!" yellow serverhorse spits out. She actually looks hurt because she said that. You actually think she brought up a good point. If anyone else said that you'd know that they were full of shit, but the story is different here in Equestria. Ponies simply can't lie all that well, and she sure didn't seem like she was lying. If she were fucking with you, you think she would probably be trying to hold back laughs instead of being completely serious about this whole ordeal.

"Earlier, when I said born did you have any clue as to what that word means?" you ask.

"Yeah! It means... to appear!" she replies. She's proud of herself a little too much at being able to answer that.

Unfortunately, your walk's lovely conversation gets interrupted by the both of you are now in front of yellow serverhorse's home. By the looks of it, it's an apartment complex of some sort. There's a few more similar buildings right by it, and they all look the same as well. While multiple stories tall, they all look just like where a pony would call home. Strange cartoonish feel, like the rest of this place.

"We can finish this talk when we head inside and get you situated!" yellow serverhorse announces.

You hope the ceiling is high enough. Establishments like restaurants have ceilings high enough for you to walk comfortably in, but you're unsure about the pony dwellings. You're definite that this is your first time entering a pony's home.

Luckily for you, yellow serverhorse's apartment is on the bottom level and you won't have to be carrying anything up any stairs. You head in while ducking your head after she opens the door and holds it open for you. You are definite you didn't see any locking mechanism on the door. Inside, you're greeted by a lovely surprise! The ceiling is in fact more than high enough for you!

Now that you think of it, this entire place is quite roomy! However, this makes this spacious space seem a little suspiciously spacious.

"This apartment is much bigger than I thought it was going to be! My friend made a decent amount of money back home, and his wasn't this big!" you say. You look at yellow serverhorse only to find her blushing.

"T-that's real kind of you, Anon. I know it's not the biggest but you don't have to flatter me like that. It's all I can afford, after all!" she replies.

The fuck does she mean by that this is all she can afford? Does this mean that low income housing for ponies is the equivalent to VERY nice apartments from middle of nowhere U.S.? You notice how nice the entrance is, a marble floor leading up to a carpeted living room with lots of space and a rather comfy looking couch. Where there would normally be a TV placed back on homeworld, there is a magical fireplace of some sort placed in the corner.

You continue scanning the environment. The kitchen and the dining room are kind of merged, but the dining table shares an open space right by the living room. You could have sworn the building was smaller on the outside. This must be some next-level pony magic fuckery. It's like a small-sized house in here!

"Does this apartment span the whole ground level or something?" you ask.

"Well, duh, Anon!" yellow serverhorse says, as if saying that it was extremely unusual for there to be multiple apartments on the same floor or something. You find yourself quickly becoming acclimated to this fact, however. Nice digs!

"So, yellow serverhorse, how much does this place cost you?" you ask.

"T-that's rude Anon! You can't just ask somepony how much their home costs the second you come in! And my name is Lemon!" Lemon says. Alright, that may have been a little rude, even by human standards. Wait... Lemon?

"I'm sorry, yel-Lemon. Back where I'm from we don't have places as nice as this. From the way you were talking, it seemed like this very nice place is low income housing." you say in a slightly unnerving tone. You have bigger things to question.

"More importantly, is your name seriously just Lemon? No Last name?" you say. Lemon is now blushing profusely.

"W-well, that's just my first name..." she says.

"What's your whole name?"

Lemon is now physically shivering, face becoming redder by the second.

"Lemon... i-in the..."

Your full attention is now on this little yellow horse. This does not sit with her well, as by looking at her more she struggles to even speak. She tries, and tries again once more. Nothing comes out. You find yourself bewildered and slightly amused by this.

"My name is... my name... Is Lemon, in the Glass." she finally manages to spit out.

"Lemon Glass?"

"N-no. Lemon in the Glass."

"Like... a title?"

"No, my full legal name is Lemon in the Glass." Lemon in the Glass explains. You almost laughed, but the smile on your face managed to appear.

'You're telling me your name is Lemon in the Glass? Even by pony standards, that's just stretching it right there." you say.

"Please don't b-bully me! I had to go throughout the entirety of kindergarten with this name! I barely survived!" Lemon tells you. You think this is adorable. It's like naming a spaceship "It's Not a Bug, It's a Feature" or something silly like that. Lemon in the Glass, huh? Like a glass of water you get at a restaurant. You're sure the only place you've seen people get such things are in restaurants. One quick glance at her rump reveals that the cutie mark matches too. A handwritten order ticket.

"Don't worry, I may be big and tough, but I'm no bully. I'll, uh, just call you Lemon." you say.

Lemon in the Glass calms down, and then speaks again.

"Thank you for being so nice to me, Anon. I get really nervous when ponies ask me my name! And then they just start asking questions about it and I just don't know what to do!" she says.

"Yeah, that sucks. I knew a guy with an unfortunate name too, but I don't think you'd understand the reference behind it." you reply. Lemon seems content, and happy now. "So, like, your name is like putting a lemon in a glass of water or something?"

She starts getting red again, with an angry undertone this time.

After calming down Lemon and assuring her you weren't just trying to get under her skin, she finally lets it go. She then gives you the tour of her home, and then shows you her spare bedroom that she conveniently had. Sure does feel nice to be able to have a place to store your coins.

You ponder how pony taxes work if there's no fragments of bits.

Back to analyzing the room at hand, it's actually a pretty nice little room. It's not too big, but it does have a bed that happens to be barely your size. It's like a twin bed, but slightly more awkward. You'll make it work. It's much better than being in a sleeping bag on the rocky ground under a bridge. Other than the bed, there's a nightstand, lamp, and drawer.

You put your things down.

"Thanks again for letting me crash here, but I'm sure going to miss being a bridge troll." you say. Lemon's eyes widen.

"Y-you're a bridge troll?"

"No, I'm not a monster. I'm just your average, ordinary human dude." you say. Lemon lets out a sigh of relief, and then looks at the clock.

"Goodness! It's dinner time already!" she says. You sure do feel a little hungry.

"Since you're my guest Anon, I'll be the one serving up dinner tonight!" she pipes.

"Aww, how nice of you," you say in a tone that of an adult talking to a child, "what's on the menu?"

"Myyyy speciality! Eggs and cereal!" Lemon announces.

"Sounds... delicious."

"And while we're enjoying dinner, you can tell me where babies come from!"

This ought to be good.

Some time passes, and you find yourself at the dinner table. Lemon serves you a bowl of what looks like Lucky Charms and a plate of scrambled eggs on the side. You wonder how many ponies here are capable of making regular sunny-side up eggs.

Honestly, it's not the worst meal you've had for dinner. You remember having sleep for dinner once or twice when you were a kid.

It's a rather interesting choice by Lemon for this meal. You guess it's quite refined by pony standards, but then again, you remember the restaurant and how there's actual ponies who can cook really good food there. You assume that the meal in front of you is considered "We're not going out for tonight! We have eggs and cereal at home!"

"Thank you for the meal." you say. You and Lemon dig in, enjoying the nice ambiance of the magical fireplace nearby, and her little pony gramophone playing antiquated music as a reasonable volume.

"So," Lemon swallows. "Where do babies come from?"

You figure the only way through this ordeal is by being honest, as your old man taught you.

"Where do I start..." you say.

Lemon's full attention is on you now. You can feel a slight bit of metaphorical pressure being pushed on to you.

"I'm no biologist, but I'll give you my understanding of it. So, uh, basically, when a boy and a girl love eachother very much..."

Lemon's eyes widen.

"Well, see, here's the thing, girls have vaginas." you explain.

"Ba-ginas?"

"VA-ginas." you articulate.

"VA-ginas." Lemon copies.

"Yeah, vaginas. They're located under your butthole." you say. Lemon snickers at the mention of a butthole.

"Haha, you said butthoe. I am so glad we're inside my home where nobody can hear this!" she says, and then refocuses. "Va-gina. Is.. that my special place?"

Good lord, this is difficult.

"I pee out of there! How does that work?" Lemon asks.

"Shit." you say. Lemon winces at the curse, but her attention is still there.

"Well, it... doubles as something called a reproductive organ." you explain.

"Reproductive... organ?" she questions.

"Right. Males have the counterpart to the vagina, called a penis."

Lemon furrows her brow at what you just said.

"THAT'S what it's called? The thing colts have? I thought it was called a winkie!"

"Winkie's another nicer word for it."

"Do you have a penis?" Lemon asks. The word penis coming out of her mouth seems somewhat wrong, but you're here to talk about the birds and the bees so you'll have to get used to it. You wonder how ponies even breed to begin with in the first place. You've seen a few dangling balls, and a few unfortunate sights of dongs drooping, but nobody paid any attention to them to begin with. You eventually just ignore it when it happens, seeing as nobody around cares. Could they just not understand what they saw?

"Yes." you say in response to her question.

"Do all colts have penises?" Lemon asks.

"Only the guys have penises."

"Oh, ok."

Lemon looks contemplative.

"I don't see how this explains where babies come from." she says.

"You see, the boy and girl both start to feel hot and flustered." you continue explaining. You notice Lemon look down, presumably at her own special place. She looks somewhat disgusted.

"That's weird!" she says.

"Then the boy sticks his... penis... inside of the female's vagina."

Lemon loses a little color.

"H-how..."

"Then he goes back and forth a little bit with it, in and out, until it starts feeling really good, and he then feels something called an orgasm." you say. You're holding a little laugher back. You never thought you were going to have the opportunity to explain how babies are made to a grown woman.

"O-orgasm?"

"Imagine the best feeling you've ever had. Multiply that by a thousand or so." you say. Lemon's mind is clearly going into overdrive with this new information.

"C-can mares get orgasms too?" she asks. You find yourself getting slightly more uncomfortable with this conversation. Usually, back on home world, these talks were usually avoided due to the kids finding out about it on their own. The second the parents decided it was time, they quickly found out that the kid already knows.

"Yes, mares can have them too." you say. Lemon's pupils gets a little tinier. She's somehow simultaneously losing color, and blushing profusely. You think you can feel her heartbeat reverberate through her chair, through the floor, and up to your seat.

"And when the guy orgasms, his winkie squirts out a slimy, white liquid." you explain.

Lemon is shivering.

"H-how does..." she spurts out.

"Then something happens inside the female's special place, and from the liquid there's these things called sperm cells."

"S-s-sperm c-cells?" Lemon sputters out. She looks like she's on the verge of losing her shit.

"Yeah, little microscopic swimming things containing the essence of the male."

Lemon is breathing very heavily.

"There's millions of them inside the liquid."

Lemon faints.

She falls out of her chair, and flops on the ground. You're sure that may have hurt for her if she was awake enough to register the pain of thudding on the ground like that. You're just sitting there, soggy cereal and all, staring at her now lifeless body on the ground. You're somehow both surprised and not surprised at the fact that you just made a pony faint. Guess she couldn't handle it when you mentioned the sheer number of sperm cells in jizz. You wonder if she'll look at eggs the same way if you continue telling her about it.

You look at the clock, seeing that it is indeed around bedtime now. You figure that Lemon was going to go to bed soon eventually.