 Why did Orison say that she quit?
"That will be most satisfactory, Mr. Wanji," Orison said. 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. 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. 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. Orison slipped between the sheets at eleven-thirty. Orison transferred her head to the pillow to her left. Orison briefed her pillow on the Earmuffs, on her task of reading to a microphone, and on the generally mimsy tone of the William Howard Taft National Bank and Trust Company. Orison flung the shoe and the pillow under her bed, and resolved to write Washington for permission to make her future reports by registered mail. At ten o'clock the next morning, reading page four of the current Wall Street Journal , Orison was interrupted by the click of a pair of leather heels.
 She was frustrated with her visitors
 She was frustrated with her visitors  She didn't understand her job  She didn't like reading every day  Kraft was being rude to her