(Thanks to Missydotnet for helping with some basic editing on my first piece here!)
*
There is always tension in an office. The cubicles, the sweat, the pounding of keys and the desperation of the nine to five set. Dagny could have easily escaped it. It was cooler and brighter in her office, with the light streaming into the open room, not filtered and stale like in those tiny white-collar cells. These were her drones, not her people. She was the elite, the crème de la crème, the CEO and the Lord God to these people. She could feel the sweat pour off the stiff-suited men and lipsticked women as she walked past their cubicles.
Dagny loved to walk past the workers. There was something about the fear and weakness that gave her a rush of adrenaline. Even so, they disgusted her. They were just all so pathetic. They had never had huge contracts that hinged on them, didn't dine on five star meals daily, never managed millions of dollars, never fired a man twice their age and worth twice the assets. They would live and die like this. She wouldn't.
She stopped at the entrance of a cubicle. She had no idea what the name plate said, or what position it was for. It was lowly, clerical, and something that had more managers between Dagny's position and it than she could imagine.
It was the person inside the cubicle that interested her. A homely looking girl, bent over a stack of papers, large horn-rim glasses sliding off her nose frequently and needing to be pushed back up. Her clothing was the lowest end of women's professional wear that you could get. Polyester with weak shoulders and a blouse far too clingy for anyone to respect. Dagny entered the cubicle and coughed.
The mousey girl looked up in fear, "Oh! Ms. Freeman! W-w-what can I do for you?" The girl stood quickly.
Dagny looked disdainfully at her. "Tell me, is it common practice for young ladies in this office to neglect to wear shoes at work?" The girl blanched.
