Mildred, the shy librarian, was about two pages from reorganizing the nonfiction aisle when the universe decided to throw a pie in her face—literally. One minute, she was minding her own business, alphabetizing “F” for “Frites,” and the next, she found herself ducking under an explosion of custard cream, flung with such reckless abandon that it threatened her very existence and her impeccably ironed cardigan.
She might have gasped if she weren’t so busy trying to suppress the scream of “Not the library!” in her head. Her hands, normally steady enough to place bookends in precise symmetry, flailed with the grace of a newborn giraffe attempting ballet. In the chaos, her glasses slipped down her nose like they had a destination of their own—halfway into the cream pie’s aftermath.
Mildred’s mind raced, though mostly about how uneven the pie looked on her cardigan and whether that would require a dry clean (spoiler: yes, but don’t ask her how to make a custard stain stop staring at you). Meanwhile, shadowy figures passed by with moves that suggested they were born in a spy movie, and Mildred thought, “I should’ve stayed at the knitting club.”
She tripped over an invisible obstacle that turned out to be a conveniently placed briefcase, slated for a thrilling exchange she neither wanted nor understood. Flailing arms caught a stray newspaper, which she promptly used like a knight’s shield—except it offered as much protection as tissue paper—and in the process, she sent a stack of top-secret files fluttering into the air like disgruntled pigeons.
Through the mayhem, Mildred’s inner monologue oscillated between sheer panic and the logistical nightmare of how many overdue book notices she’d likely rack up once this was over. Someone shouted, “We have the package!” and all she could think was, “I haven’t even checked out the package from the front desk.”
Then, just as she executed an unintentional and rather spectacular somersault, escaping a dodgeball of espionage-grade gadgets, Mildred landed—unexpectedly—on a conveniently placed Voicemail Machine, smashing it into irreparable silence.
Everyone froze. The tension was thick enough to cut with her library bookmark. Then, Mildred realized she had somehow become the unwitting star of an international spy ordeal, the custard-stained heroine no one asked for.
She looked down at her ruined cardigan, plastered glasses, and the terrible mess she’d made and thought, with a flair of dramatics that surprised even herself, “I always knew I’d make a splash in life…but this is ridiculous.”
Suddenly, the lead spy bowed deeply, handed her a gum wrapper wrapped in a handwritten note, and whispered, “Agent Custard, your mission begins now.” Mildred blinked.
It wasn’t a spy mission at all. It was a prank show, and she’d just won $10,000 by face-planting into a custard pie. Mildred, custard-covered and confused, wondered how she could possibly explain this to the head librarian. After all, she’d just aced the most slapstick mission of her life—purely by accident. And with that, she decided that next week, she’d put “Espionage Avoidance” on her resume, right between “Sorting” and “Occasional Cake Wrestling.”
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