Butler and Chef

From the time she entered kindergarten, the Butler and the Chef had taken turns ferrying little Rhonda to school. One day, the Butler would drop her off, and the Chef would pick her up. The next day, it might be the other way around. Or one servant might do both drop off and pick up duty for a week. But there was never a problem with the arrangement, until the day the Butler returned from pick up duty without the child and said, "You don't do things my way, the kid gets a bullet in the head."

The household was in an uproar. The Master was distraught. The servants ran in circles, gibbering incoherently.

"What's going on?" cried the Master. "Where's Rhonda? I don't understand!"

"Never you mind," said the Butler coolly. "The kid is safe. For now. She's with my people."

"But whatwhatwhat?" squawked the Master. "You've always been a faithful servant. What's this about?"

"It's his fault," said the Butler, indicating the Chef with his chin.

"My fault?" replied the Chef incredulously.

"Don't play innocent," said the Butler. "You've been mismanaging the kitchen for years. Now, it's my turn."

"Your turn to mismanage the kitchen?" asked the Chef.

"You bet," said the Butler, "and I don't believe in doing things half way!"

"But it's my kitchen," shrieked the Chef. "It's my job to mismanage it."

"Not anymore," replied the Butler. "I run the kitchen my way, or the kid get's it. See?"

"You can't have my kitchen!" the Chef objected. "It's ... my kitchen!"

"This doesn't make any sense!" protested the Master. "What does my daughter have to do with your squabbling over the kitchen?"

"This is for your own good," said the Butler to the Master. "You think I'm doing this for myself?"

"Um, ... yes?" ventured the Master.

"You got till midnight Tuesday to turn over the kitchen," said the Butler, turning to the Chef. "Or the kid gets it."

"Why midnight Tuesday?" asked the Chef.

"Cause you got to have arbitrary deadlines for these things," explained the Butler. "Otherwise, they go on forever."

"You can't have my kitchen!" repeated the Chef.

"Then the kid gets it," shrugged the Butler. "And it's your fault."

"You do know that you work for me, don't you?" the Master interjected. "And that I can fire your asses at will?"

"Of course," said the Butler deferentially. "And my experience with you is that you are a right berk who will believe any bullshit I feed you. So don't disappoint me, ok?"