Niples "Ambassador rush"

Seymour Niples
Ambassadors Quarters
10 minutes before the shipload of Ambassadors arrive
 
Efof burst through the door carrying a big basket of washed clothes. Seymour, who had been impatiently pacing the room snapped at him.
 
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!!! They’re getting here in 10 minutes, AND THOSE CLOTHES NEED IRONING AND AIRING!!!”
 
“I’m sorry” Efof said sheepishly. “I couldn’t work the washing machines down at the laundrette, they’re confusing. Did you know they have 5 buttons? Five buttons! That’s more I get at the Helm.”
“Good god Efof! Did you not have washing machines on Ffion?”
“Well the busty naked slaves who pleasured us on our every whim always bathed our clothes in pure springwater then left them to dry in the cool eveningmeadow breeze…”
Seymour fumed and snatched the washing off him, frantically ironing them on his ironing board in a delicate way as possible.
 
Efof felt a bit awkward. “So…..erm….. you looking forward to the ambassadors reception?”
“Yes its about time we had some people round here with a bit of class!! That reminds me, where are the Ferraro Rochers? And go and rent out some golf equipment, I’ll take the Ambassadors golfing later. Oh and go buy some expensive wine…”
 
“Wine? Oh that vinegary stuff you always drink and pretend you know about?”
 
Seymour glared at him and said bitterly “On second thoughts I think I had better arrange the wine.”
 
Efof bit his lip and wondered if Ambassador Niples still had the power to cut his pay.
“And now to iron my lucky shirt…..OH DEAR GOD!!!”
Efof edged towards the door.
 
“MY LUCKY SHIRT IS RUINED…RUINED!!!” He held up a wrinkled piece of fabric that had been died pink.
“These was an erm…..red bra in there….I didn’t check the washer before I put your stuff in…..”
“A red bra? RED BRA!!!!!” Seymour steamed. He would have strangled the Ffionion but looked at his watch, “They’ll be here any minute, I don’t have time for this!!”
He ironed what was left of his good shirt and put it on, or at least tried to put it on. The shirt had shrunk and barely fastened.
“EFOF!! Whoever taught you how to wash?”
“Well I asked Jay once… but I think he thought I was talking about how to crash a Starbug cos he told me to ask Dean….”
“I’ll kill him, I really will. And I’ll get him to dock your wages. And who’s red bra was it anyway? I should dock her wages too, leaving a dangerous item laying around where any monkey can use it for mass destruction! Find out who wears red bra’s and report her immediately!”
“but I can’t do that” Efof said bashfully kicking the ground.
“DO IT!!!” Seymour shouted. And looked around at other clothes to put on.
“Right I’ve had a bubble bath, shaved, done clothes, sorted golf….moisturiser!”
“Moisuriser? Isn’t that for girls?”
“OUT!!!!”
Efof ran out to run Seymour’s errands.
 
************************
A few minutes later….
Docking bay 4
 
The ambassadors departed from their transport saying how spacetravel isn’t like it was in the good old days, and brushed their suede jackets down. Seymour greeted them in his small wrinkly pink shirt.
“We’re looking for Ambassador Niples” the delegation announced. Seymour looked at what he was wearing and winced.
“I am Seymour Niples sir, I’m very pleased to meet you all.
“Good god man, is that the best shirt you own? How are we expected to negotiate with the Hymenoptera when you dress like that. They might be offended and the negotiation may fail.”
 
Seymour held his tongue, he wasn’t sure if the Ambassador fully understood the situation, or even knew what the Hymenoptera were. They were more likely to eat them or farm their living brains for use in ships than merely cancel a negotiation. But he kept quiet about that.”Well….I’m dressed like this because a lot of the crew here feel threatened by people as well spoken and well dressed as high class members of society such as ourselves…”
There was a chortle from the delegation in a way that only posh old men can chortle.
“…So I dress down to match the crew.”
 
Just then, the delegation were shocked and amazed as they watched a man wearing a shellsuit, big gold chain and jogging trousers tucked into his socks walked by, and mouthed obscenities to the old men as they stared at him. They gasped in shock.”Seymour, I had no idea!” Said one Ambassador, turning to the rest of the delegation. “Let us do the right thing and dress down too, it is the only way we can fit in.”
He started ripping his shirt, and others did too. They stamped on their own ties.
“No, no, I didn’t mean….”
“Seymour you are too modest, but we must do this to fit in.”
“But not all of the crew are…”
 
Seymour inwardly kicked himself, what would he do when they realised that everyone apart from a few underpaid lackkys dressed quite well? Could her really introduce some scruffy looking ragamuffins to the command staff?
 
Ten minutes later the delegate all came out of Oxfam and various other charity shops on the promenade wearing the most disgusting array of 2nd and 3rd-hand clothes. The barman in parotts saw 15 scruffy old men walking down the promenade. “Dan, shut the pub up. Looks like we’re got a bunch of gyppo’s*.”
 
To be continued….
 *This is a term that I think is local slang, and you lot state-side probably wont get it. It means travelling folk, but not the nice ones- the scruffy kind that follow travelling circuses or religious groups and whenever they’re in the area theres tales of farm equipment being nicked but you can never prove it. Other things they’re called: gypsies, hedge-monkeys, scruffy barsteds, scruffybuggers.

------------------------ David "Onion" Ball
WWW.BlueDwarf.co.uk
My Online CV ------------------------
"Hows it hanging?""Its hanging off, I've just had three of 'em round the back"(Pheonix Nights)

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