Margaret Clerk

While working at the Paper Mill I typed 90 words per minute; my short hand was a pretty good speed too. I kept my hands soft and my fingernails clean. That black and red ribbon could be an awful mess.

The typing pool girls were always busy with gossip. They learned quick. If a woman was talked about, then you could be the next subject.

Gossip was not for me. The girls knew that too. I kept to myself. 

The office emptied shortly after the mid-day whistle blew. Lunch was the only time our office was quiet.  I could sit, eat my cheese sandwich and put a little whisky in my coke.

The day I needed a touch more libation than lunch was unfortunate. 

It is quiet here. No clacking 90 words per minute. No chatting among the women around me. Just quiet, almost like lunch time but no noises beyond this space.