Austin: "How did she get pregnant! It was not my fault! I am very stompy!"
Virginia: "Chill out. You boned her 10 Mar, for just over six minutes. Long enough to get the job done, if by 'job' we're meaning 'get her pregnant and also embarrass yourself.'"
Austin: "I was just quote an 'organ donor'! What about her diaphragm?"
Virginia: "It happens more often than you think."
Austin: "I can't pay this girl. My wife watches the checking account like a bloodhound."
Virginia: "Charming, really. And I can't say what she wants, or if she wants anything. I just thought you deserved to know that you have contributed to a life out there somewhere. Why is everybody acting like that's the fucking end of the world?"
Austin: "You say that like it's something that's happening to her. Jesus Christ, show a little sensitivity!"
Jane is the fourth-floor Hall Marshall for Civil Defense, which means she is twice as adorable this week as usual. She reads random propaganda facts and then when questioned about it, acknowledges that none of it makes any sense, and it's just great. I know it's the times but part of me, even as a child, was sort of blown away by the fact that people my parents' age ever believed you could protect yourself from a fucking nuclear bomb by getting under your desk. That seems like something the Pilgrims would believe, maybe.
Who is not charmed by Jane's civil dedication is one Dr. William Masters, who is mad at her for going on with the end of the world as if it were just that, and his phone ringing off the hook like it is. Masters never, I think, truly grasps what the simulation is about. Not because he's above it or skeptical, but like on some basic level he doesn't understand playing pretend. Like when he was a little kid, the other kids were doing whatever -- playing that game with the stick and the hoop, tying oranges to their belts -- but little Billy Masters just carried on, stacking rocks in order of the size of their genitalia.
"When Khrushchev pushes the button you can have the morning off! Until then you're still my secretary!"
The sirens go off right then, and one of the typing pool ladies yells at Virginia to get under a desk and pretend to be down there until it's time to pretend some other thing. Of course, she ends up under the same desk as Dr. Lillian DePaul, which is where we get the saying "There are no feminists in foxholes." Little-known fact.