 How did Orison feel on the first day of her job?
Mr. Wanji returned to Orison her letters of reference. "That will be most satisfactory, Mr. Wanji," Orison said. Mr. Wanji grabbed Orison's right hand and shook it with athletic vigor. The uniformed operator nodded to Mr. Wanji, bowed slightly to Orison. This laissez-faire policy of Taft Bank's might explain why she'd been selected from the Treasury Department's secretarial pool to apply for work here, she thought. She picked up the newspaper from the "In" basket, unfolded it to discover the day's Wall Street Journal , and began at the top of column one to read it aloud. By lunchtime Orison had finished the Wall Street Journal and had begun reading a book an earmuffed page had brought her. Orison switched off her microphone at noon, marked her place in the book and took the elevator down to the ground floor. As though they were members of a ballet-troupe, these gentlemen whipped off their hats with a single motion as Orison stepped aboard the elevator. Girls from the ground-floor offices of Taft Bank chattered together, eyed Orison with the coolness due so attractive a competitor, and favored her with no gambit to enter their conversations. Orison sighed, finished her tuna salad on whole-wheat, then went back upstairs to her lonely desk and her microphone. Home in her apartment, Orison set the notes of her first day's observations in order. Item: she was being employed at a very respectable salary to read newsprint and nonsense into a microphone. Orison slipped between the sheets at eleven-thirty.
 confused about her job duties
 confused about her job duties  frustrated with the other women that worked there  excited about such a large raise  in love with the quirkiness of the employees