Mayor Mare Has a Problem

by Noble Thought

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Mayor Mare, Comedy
Length: 1791

Running Ponyville takes a lot of paperwork, and nopony but the Mayor seems to appreciate just how much. Sometimes, it can drive a mare a little... crazy.

Sometimes, the most tempting thing is to just let it all go. And stamp everything.

Published 2014-04-05 15:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2014-04-05 15:50:01 UTC

Stamped

Paperwork.

Paperwork was everywhere.

Scattered about her desk piles of paperwork sprouted up like a metropolis. The buildings were stacked so closely together that there was scant room between them to place the roads of order that Mayor Mare had to carefully tread in order to keep Ponyville running smoothly. Nopony but she knew quite how much thought had to go into keeping the chaos from overtaking their small town.

And every day, there was more. Forms seemed to appear, as though by magic, where they hadn’t been seconds before. She was halfway convinced that somewhere, somepony was bringing the forms to life, forcing them to mate and then foisting the horrible offspring onto her desk. It was her Life Form theory of paperwork.

Some of them made no sense, some were just slight changes from other forms that somehow made even less sense than before. Some of them made too much sense. They were common sense requests like a "Request to eat lunch." That one, she just tossed away.

A rare few were actually thoughtful... though she couldn't think of a single one right then.

And there were forms for everything! She pulled one from the pile she called The Unmentionables, a pile that her assistants had learned never to call attention to, for fear of having their flanks stamped.

"A form requesting permission to hold a fracas at high noon in town square," she grumbled. "What pony..." she sighed, looking at the signature line at the bottom of the form. She didn't even need to scratch away the dried frosting to see who it was. "Of course." She wasn't even sure it was a real form! Some of these, maybe... but all of them needed to be processed and needed her approval or to be tossed in the bin. At least it would be a warm winter.

She supposed, maybe... maybe she could delegate?

The image of a giant cheese wheel rampaging through town came rolling through her mind. If only that had been the end of the foolishness they’d approved the last time. The resultant paperwork from the Rainbow Dash Birthaversary Bash had been at near apocalyptic levels. Her hoof still ached from the stamping of paperwork that particular mess had generated.

No... she couldn't delegate. Her assistants didn't seem to actually read the approval requests and all too often gave approval to the most foolish ideas. The cheese wheel had only been the start. The roller coaster... the hippopotamus? And where in the Sam Hay had they gotten ahold of a party tank? Who in the light of Celestia had built the blasted thing? Was there really a thriving market for weaponized partying?

The very next day, she had taken away her assistant's stamps and burned them. Now hers was the only one, and it sat under a glass dome, shining in the noonday sun like the greatest treasure never recovered by Daring Do. She certainly guarded it as jealously as any villain. Nopony else was even allowed to touch it. If she could hide it away, she would make sure nopony would even see it.

Her assistants were nice enough ponies, but she was afraid they would approve the apocalypse. They just didn’t have the talent and drive to be true administrators. What they were great for, however, was the delivery of paperwork and taking of notes—two things that she then didn't have to worry about.

She crumpled up the request for a fracas and tossed it onto the mountain of similar rejects beside her desk. She didn't even bother using her rejection stamp anymore. The poor thing had been so overused that the once crisp lines that spelled out REJECTED had worn down to little more than a series of slightly raised bumps on an otherwise flat surface.

Now, she just ignored the rejected requests and put them in the pile. That mountain, her assistants called it Mt. Rejection, was a testament to the recent spate of chaos that had spread throughout the town. The growing mountain of wadded up paper taunted her with her inability to do more than direct and approve paperwork.

She pulled another request down from a much taller pile. This one, she called The Unknowables. These were requests that came down from Canterlot that seemed to have no purpose other than to generate paperwork.

"Notice to hereforthwith refer to Librarian, Twilight Sparkle as Princess Librarian, Twilight Sparkle."

She sighed and dropped her head to her hooves. She wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh. Did anyone in Canterlot even read what they sent her? It was so tempting just to approve it and send it on.

The glinting of her stamp, with its smooth outer surface and premium silk hoofstrap, gleamed temptingly in the light from her office window.

"Just one?" it seemed to say.

"No! I will not abuse my power." Canterlot Central could stuff themselves if she thought she was just going to rubber stamp any old request. Even if it was technically a notice and not a request, it was stupid. They hadn't even bothered to get her name right—or in the right order. Her last name wasn't Librarian, that was her job! And was hereforthwith even a word?

"It wouldn't hurt to do just one..." the stamp glinted. "You can just undo it later. You're the mayor."

The form lay there in front of her, taunting her with its blank signature line. She touched the tip of her hoof to it and let her mind go free for a moment to imagine what would happen if she signed it. One side of her mouth quirked up in a lopsided smile.

“Why not?” Her eye twitched. “After all, why shouldn’t I?”

It was tempting. Why did she always have to be so straightlaced? Couldn't she just indulge herself and approve one silly request? Why not?

She began to laugh and reached for her stamp.

"Why not have a little fun?"

“Princess Librarian, Twilight Sparkle… Approved!”

It felt good. She kept on laughing as she reached for another request from The Unmentionables. It felt good to let go.

“Request to carry Spike upside down for a day? Approved!”

Then another from The Unknowables.

“Hear ye and henceforthwith, the Library of Ponyville shall be known as The Castle Most High of Her Highness, the Princess Twinkle Sporkle? Approved!”

She reached for another, laughing maniacally.

Papier Mâché glanced over at her friend and fellow office worker, Sharp Quill. They had both known this day was coming. The size of Mt. Rejection had been growing steadily, and it was only a matter of time before it erupted. The laughter was the warning siren that it was coming.

The stamp-crazy laugh. Already there was the rapid-fire percussion of form after form being approved. The paperwork to clean up the paperwork was going to be a nightmare all on its own, never mind the chaos it would cause around town.

Papier Mâché shoved back her chair and dove under the scant protection offered by her desk. "She's lost it. Again. Hide!"

Sharp Quill pushed back his chair and stood up, looking back and forth between the door to the Mayor's office and the door separating the rest of Ponyville from the impending eruption of Mt.--" He paused. "Is it Mt. Rejection this time, or Mt. Approval? She wore out her rejection stamp last time."

"Who the hay cares! It's indelible ink!"

"Yeah... but we need to warn the town. There's a form to be filled out."

“The hay with the town! My hide was red for a month after the last time and I still see REJECTED whenever I close my eyes.”

The laughter got louder and the door to the mayor's office burst open. Mayor Mare was standing there with a stamp dripping in green ink strapped to one hoof. Papers were stuck to her everywhere by still drying ink and a long trail of them led back to the destroyed metropolis on the desk.

"Poor Paperopolis," Sharp Quill lamented, "It was so beautiful this time..." he stared into the office at the destroyed, once beautiful city he had helped to craft while the Mayor galloped about stamping every solid surface in sight. He would have to hide eventually, but she liked solid surfaces better than...

Why was it so quiet all of a sudden?

"Papier Mâché? Mayor Mare?"

There was no answer from his friend, and when he looked around, he didn't see the Mayor anywhere either. Maybe she'd already left?

"Maybe we can rebuild. Just wait. I think she's..." he trailed off. The silence in the office was suddenly thunderous. He saw Papier Mâché staring and pointing a hoof at him, her other pressed against her mouth. "She's right behind me, isn't she?"

"Approved!"

Days later, Mayor Mare sat at her desk again, nursing a bruised hoof. Upon her desk, the bustling metropolis of Paperopolis had been rebuilt, every form meticulously re-copied and placed back where it had been. Somehow, the streets of the thriving metropolis seemed more bustling than ever when everywhere along its streets lay the bright green APPROVED, over and over. It just looked... better.

A brand new stamp sat under glass now.  This one was rubber, though. Sharp Quill had refused to write up the paperwork to approve a metal one. Not that she blamed him. Not after...

She shied away from the memory of the paperwork she'd had to fill out at the hospital. She hadn't thought a pony could experience trauma from being stamped too much—even if it was only psychological.

At least she hadn't made it to Sweet Apple Acres this time.

She needed help cleaning up the mess. But who? She couldn't even talk to Twinkle Sporkle. Not until the name change went through. Again. And Spike refused to deliver her messages to Celestia. She would just have to pace herself, she supposed, and wait for her assistants to come back from their well deserved vacation.

"Request to approve purchase of new Approval stamp... approved." She strapped the stamp to her hoof and sighed. So much more work to do. It never ended.

She sighed again and slid over the only form in the smallest pile on her desk, The Sensibles. It was the only one that had gotten sorted into that pile while she was... away. It was the only one she could ever remember sitting in that pile.

"Request to approve payment to clean stamp marks off of City Hall." She looked at the rubber stamp strapped to her hoof. Something felt off as she pressed it down on the signature line. Perhaps it was the distinct lack of a satisfactory thunk marking her approval.

"Approved."