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ladderclimbing (ladderclimbing) wrote in silverage,

Peggy hadn't had the best day. It had started with an unfortunate conversation with her mother about her desire to move into the "big city" and had spiraled downward from there. The final straw was staring down at a series of dictations she'd asked one of the girls to type up for her that didn't at all resemble the notes she'd dictate to her. This happened more often than not, she was noticing, and it was as if the secretaries didn't care to do anything she asked. Peggy knew it was because she was who she was and that none of the girls would have pulled this sort of thing on Don, Roger, or any of the men in the office.

She looked down at the typed papers, eyes scanning the blatant typos that had been made-- honestly, who couldn't spell "promotion?" They worked for an advertisement agency for Christ's sake.

If any the other copywriters or executives had faced this sort of constant failure to produce solid work they simply would have told Joan and Joan would have had the girl promptly removed and a new girl in the chair the next day. But Peggy wasn't going to tattle, because then she would have been known as the tattler and the girls would have simply resented her even more. The quality of work wouldn't have improved, it only would have gotten worse. More than likely, Peggy would end up retyping her notes herself, because she certainly couldn't present them to Don and Pete like this.

"Damnit," she cursed underneath her breath and looked down the hall towards the secretarial pool. There were days when she honestly wouldn't have minded something bad happening to each and every one of them (but not really, and she would repent for that in church that Sunday). The ones she new, at least. It wasn't fair to the ones who hadn't done anything to her yet-- like the fiery redhead walking towards her now. This one was definitely new.

Peggy glanced down at her papers again and frowned quickly before looking up at the new girl and calling out blindly, "Are you busy?"