A/N: I'd like to thank LabyFan23, Linkwonka88, Sonata IX, and SirAvery for reviewing. I'd also like to thank my beta-reader. I have great news! I opened up commissions and art trades on deviantart! See my profile for details. The offer for cameos is still available. So far, I only have one from artycomicfangirl. I also have original fiction in the works that I was able to post on this website because it's about Greek Gods. Check it out, if you want to.

If you recognize it from the Wonka Community, I don't own it.

Walter, the head of the Art Department, set his fedora and trench coat on the hat rack, the hands that grabbed them making him shiver. Then he heard an arrogant laugh.

"Those things still freak you out?" said an obnoxious voice that could only belong to Martin.

"I'm telling you, those hangars are alive," Walter defended. "The way those things behave... It's not natural."

"Since when has Wonka ever been natural?" Martin scoffed, as he watched the hanger grab his coat.

"I swear, one day I'll quit," Walter began, entering a dreamlike state. "Grab my family and leave. Move to California and—"

"—Get a job as one of Walt Disney's animators," Martin finished, tired of hearing Walter's mantra. His hat joined his coat on the hangar. "You do realize that you'd just be trading one nut for another?"

"At least Walt Disney's company looks normal," Walter said, putting the end of a cigarette between his lips. "Not like the circus around here."

"If the circus pays you well, why complain?" Martin said, looking for his own pack of cigarettes with his right hand. He snapped the fingers on his left hand. "Oh, I get what this is about."

"All right, 'genius'. In your expert opinion, what is this about?" Walter asked, amused.

"Simple, it's about that girl Wonka put in your department," Martin said proudly, as if he'd discovered the cure for cancer.

"Girl?" Walter said, confused as he tried to remember everyone who worked in his department. Then it dawned on him. "Oh, you mean Scarlett."

"Oh, that's her name?" Martin said, as he put the end of a cigarette between his lips.

"Actually, she's not so bad," Walter said, searching frantically for his lighter.

Martin stared at Walter as if he had told him that there was life on Mars.

"Are you serious?"

"I'll admit, at first I didn't take her seriously, and then she storms in and demands she be treated like a worker," Walter said, lighting his cigarette. "So, that's what we did."

"I'm guessing that didn't go well," Martin said bitterly, lighting his cigarette. "You know girls, always throwing fits over a few harmless jokes."

"Actually, she laughed along with us," Walter recounted, as he took a puff.

Martin laughed hysterically, which turned into violent coughing. "Don't tell me she's actually trying to be one of the guys?" he said, while leaning back against the wall to the left of the hands.

"If a girl can act like a man, I think she deserves a spot among us," Walter said nonchalantly.

"Girls acting like men," Martin said, disgusted, as he casually smoked his cigarette. "Next thing you know, we'll have dogs walking humans."

"Considering this factory, I wouldn't be surprised if that happened tomorrow," Walter said, only half-jokingly.

"Even here, there's a certain order of things," Martin said seriously, as he grabbed water from the cooler. "Humans walk dogs, men work the jobs and provide for their families and mistresses, while women take care of us, our possessions, and if we let them, spend our money."

Walter laughed. "I'll take a female co-worker over Wonka's crazy hangers any day."

"Speaking of females," Martin said, watching Maria leave the women's restroom, "I think I just spotted the factory's newest exotic flower."

Martin wiggled his eyebrows at Maria, who gave an exasperated sigh and turned her head away from him in disgust.

"Nice going, Casanova," Walter said mockingly.

"She's just playing hard to get," Martin said confidently. "A few more tries and she'll be putty in my hands."

"Or, more likely, she'll get one of her other beaus to beat you up," Walter said sardonically.

"Watch and learn, my friend," Martin told Walter, as he was making his way to Maria.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Walter warned, as he got himself some water. "Remember what Wonka said about you hitting on his secretaries?"

"If he loses another secretary because of me, I can find a new job as his personal confectionary tester," Martin said mockingly. "You do realize Wonka was bluffing,"

"Really?" Walter asked, amused. "You'd risk becoming the confectionary tester over some girl? Because you think Wonka won't act on the threat?" Walter made a tsking sound. "Personally, I've never known Wonka to bluff."

"Yeah, well forget that. I'm his top salesman!" Martin boasted. "Which makes me too valuable to his precious factory for him to get rid of me."

"He could always make do with second best," Walter remarked

"Mark my words, Wonka removes me from sales and his whole company crumbles," Martin said arrogantly, earning a smirk and a sarcastic "Sure" from Walter. "Besides, if Wonka doesn't want me hitting on his secretaries, then he needs to hire ugly ones."

"It's because of you Wonka has to hire new secretaries in the first place," Walter pointed out. "Remember what happened with the last one?"

"You mean that whore who thought I was leaving my wife?" Martin said, snickering, and then cringed at the memory. "The one that got drunk and yelled at me in front of everyone?"

"That's the one," Walter said, taking a sip of his water. "The one I call, 'Why I never get involved with the girls I work with, Exhibit A,'"

"Yeah," Martin countered. "Because you prefer picking up trash at a bar."

"Say what you want about bar wenches... At least they don't expect you to leave your wife," Walter said, as he took the last sip of his water, crumbled the empty paper cup as if it, not Martin, had offended him, and left for his work.

After a hectic morning, and navigating through the maze that was Willy Wonka's factory, Scarlett finally made it to the Break Room.

"I'm telling you, my wife loves that thing, sometimes I think more than she loves me," one of the men at the table said with a laugh. "Even if it doesn't do her any good."

"Great, another marketing scam that our sweethearts expect us to shell out money for," another one said, as Scarlett reached the refrigerator.

"Maybe they actually work," another man said. "I mean, if Wonka can come up with a chewing gum that never loses its flavor, a weight loss belt doesn't seem that far-fetched."

"Let's ask an expert," the head of the Art Department, who Scarlett knew as Walter said. Walter turned his attention to Scarlett as she was opening the refrigerator door. "Hey, Scarlett, you're a girl, right?"

"Once upon a time," Scarlett said nervously, wondering how these guys could miss something as obvious as which side of puberty she was on.

"Do those vibrating weight loss belts do any good? I'm thinking about getting my wife one for Christmas."

Great, get your wife a weight loss belt, Scarlett thought. While you're at it, why don't you get her a diet plan?

Aloud, she said, "I've tried those things. I don't really think they help you lose weight," Before she could stop herself, she added, "but they do have another use."

"Really, like what?"

It was one of the other guys wanting to know, but if he didn't already know, she sure wasn't going to tell him.

"Nothing, never mind!" Scarlett said quickly, feeling embarrassed as she opened the refrigerator door to search for her lunch. Her lunch was nowhere in sight. "Do any of you know what happened to my sandwich?"

"Was it the turkey sandwich topped with gravy?"

"Yes, why?"

The refrigerator muffled her voice, and also the snickers from the men around the table.

Unaware, Scarlett scattered items all around her, until it hit her. She pulled her head out of the refrigerator and turned to the men. "Did one of you eat my sandwich?"

"Guilty as charged," one of them said, raising his hand while the rest of them laughed louder.

"You ate my sandwich?" Scarlett said, fury rising through her.

"Yeah, your lunch looked better than mine," the guy said. "I couldn't help myself."

"You ate my sandwich!" Scarlett said, her fury getting stronger.

"Calm down," the guy said, "It's just a sandwich."

"It was my sandwich!" Scarlett said, putting her hands on her hips. "You don't steal someone else's food!"

"Thanks for the words of wisdom, 'Mom'," Walter told her, as everyone else laughed. "If you're so upset about it, you can have my lunch."

"I don't want your lunch!" Scarlett exclaimed.

"Try to do a good deed and she blows up at me," Walter said, as he shrugged his shoulders.

"I threw most of it away," the guy who took the sandwich said, with a smirk. "If you're really desperate, you can dig around in the garbage."

"YOU THREW MY SANDWICH IN THE GARBAGE?" Scarlett exclaimed.

The guys just laughed at her.

"One sandwich and little Miss 'Southern Belle's' ready to explode," Walter said jokingly.

Scarlett got her purse out of the closet.

A couple of the quieter men looked worried, and the culprit took the hint. His smirk turned into a jeer, and he took his cue from his boss.

"Ooh, little Miss Southern Belle is probably off to tattle to Wonka," he said.

He elbowed his friend next to him, who took up the cry.

"Ooh, Mr. Wonka, those mean men ate my lunch!"

"And here we go thinking she'd be cool," another said.

Scarlett glared at all of them.

"I'm not going to report this to Mr. Wonka," she told them furiously.

"Really?" said Walter. "Then where are you going?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm going to a diner," Scarlett said.

She left, without bothering to look back.

Scarlett checked the clock in the waiting room. Good, just enough time to go out, eat lunch, and come back. She was about to grab her coat, when Maria's voice startled her.

"Where are you heading?" she asked from her desk.

"Out to lunch," Scarlett answered, hoping Maria wouldn't question her further.

"What happened to your turkey sandwich?"

"Oh," Scarlett said, feeling ashamed. "I threw that out."

"You threw out perfectly good turkey?" Maria asked in disbelief.

"I accidentally dropped it on the floor," Scarlett lied.

"That's all?" Maria said, laughing. "Then you can have mine."

"You don't need to starve on my account," Scarlett said, about to get her coat.

Removing the sandwich from a drawer, Maria got up from her desk.

"Relax, it wouldn't be the first time I skipped a meal," Maria said.

Scarlett took the sandwich.

"Thank you," she said.

Maria grinned.

"Better eat up, this will be your last big meal for awhile."

"What do you mean?" Scarlett asked, until it dawned on her. "Wait a minute, you're not talking about the grapefruit diet?"

"Now that Thanksgiving's over, we need to get back to healthy living," Maria said, encouragingly.

"I'm not sure if starving yourself qualifies as healthy living," Scarlett said, hesitantly.

"It's not starving. You still get to eat," Maria defended.

Not very much, Scarlett thought.

Out loud, she said, "Didn't you tell me to embrace being one of the guys?"

"Yeah, I did. What does that have to do with our diet?"

"Well, I don't think a bunch of guys who don't take me seriously are suddenly going to start when my lunches are nothing more than grapefruit and a boiled egg," Scarlett explained.

Though it will stop them from stealing my lunch again, Scarlett thought.

"Oh, that's what you're worried about?" Maria said, laughing. "Honey, I already know how to take care of that."

"How?" Scarlett asked, afraid to hear the answer.

"We'll go shopping after work!"

Maria browsed through different shirts, skirts and dresses with a wide smile on her face.

"This is cute," Maria said, looking at a bright red pencil skirt, and then to a blue sweater. "So is this sweater."

"Maria?" Scarlett asked.

"What, sweetie?" Maria asked absentmindedly, as she continued looking through the various clothes.

Scarlett sighed, wondering why she was expecting to get a considered word out of Maria in a shopping centre. To Scarlett, shopping was something to do when you needed new clothes, because your old clothes were falling off you. To Maria, it was her version of heaven.

Scarlett left Maria to look through the merchandise while she went to find help. It wasn't long until Scarlett spotted the nearest salesgirl.

"Hello," Scarlett said, shyly.

"Ma'am, can I help you?" the salesgirl asked, turning to her.

"I recently got a job at Mr. Wonka's," Scarlett began.

The salesgirl raised a brow. "There's no telling with Mr. Wonka. As a secretary, I hope?"

"No, I work as an artist."

"Oh, I'm sorry then. Follow me," the salesgirl said, with pity.

Scarlett followed the woman to a selection of dresses, skirts, and shirts, with plaid designs that looked very similar to men's suits.

"I don't understand," Scarlett said.

"We occasionally get women like you here," the salesgirl explained, showing off the items.

"Like me?"

"Yes, dear, like you. Girls that gave up any hope of marriage and are trying to be men, but their co-workers won't take them seriously."

"I still want to get married," Scarlett said stupidly.

"Oh," the salesgirl said, giving her a pitiful smile. "Well, good luck with that."

Scarlett ignored the pitying tone and looked through the clothes. "Forgive me for asking, but how is this supposed to get my co-workers to take me seriously?"

"Well, if you want to be treated like a man, you have to dress like a man," the salesgirl explained.

"That's it?" Scarlett asked doubtfully.

"Oh, yes. It's a sure way to make men forget that you're a woman," the salesgirl told her, as if she were explaining to a small child that one and one equals two.

Safe in the privacy of her own thoughts, Scarlett thought of Mr. Wonka.

"I'm not sure if I want my co-workers to forget that I'm a woman," Scarlett said, looking through the clothes doubtfully.

"Then do you want to quit your job, and become a secretary?" the saleswoman asked.

"No, it's just that..." Scarlett started, not sure about how to explain her dilemma. "Never mind." Scarlett took a plaid dress and a yellow shirt from the clothes rack. "I'd like to try these on."

"Dressing room's right over there," the saleswoman told her.

Scarlett sat in the small dressing room, staring at the clothes she put on the rack. Did she really want to try them on? They looked terrible. But, if it was the only way her co-workers would take her seriously, she would.

Scarlett remembered the dream she'd been told to dream, ever since she was a little girl. The dream that she would live in a house with a white picket fence, with a pretty garden, with beautiful flowers. She'd clean it to perfection, and take care of her children, while her husband was at work. Then her husband would come home to find dinner on the table, and the whole family would happily sit, and chat about their day.

It was the dream her mother always told her she should live for. Scarlett never asked herself if this was the dream she wanted. Of course she was expected to want it, just like every female in America was expected to want it. Now, here she was, about to throw it all away to live in a man's world, just like that saleswoman said.

Maybe she could talk to Mr. Wonka, ask him to consider adding her to his secretarial pool, instead of making her an artist. No, that wouldn't work. Mr. Wonka made it clear that, in his factory, she belonged in the Art Department. To convince Mr. Wonka otherwise would be futile, and maybe foolish. She wanted to be an artist.

Scarlett found herself faced with two options. The first was to quit working for Mr. Wonka, and get a job as a secretary. If she were lucky, she'll fall in love with a rich man, and live the American Dream. The sad part though, was she'd never see Mr. Wonka's beautiful factory again.

The other option was that she could give up on the American Dream all together, and start her life anew, as an artist, working in, what Scarlett dubbed in her mind, the eighth wonder of the world.

Maybe the second option wouldn't be a total loss. After all, she loved drawing and she hated cleaning, but maybe Scarlett would enjoy cleaning more if she was doing it for a man she loved. Scarlett couldn't forget that ever since she was a little girl, her mother had schooled her on how to become the perfect wife and mother. Sure, she strayed from the path in secret, but to abandon the proper path of a woman all together would break her mother's heart. Scarlett gave one last look at the outfit and took it from the rack.

"I'm sorry."

A/N: So, who do you think Scarlett was apologizing to, Willy Wonka or her mother? I've been researching the 1950s and, let me tell you, I'm happy I grew up in the 90s. However, I enjoy writing Unexpected and this version of Scarlett a little bit more than I enjoy writing The Golden Ticket Frenzy and that version of Scarlett. This might sound crazy, but writing a woman in the 50s just has far more opportunities than writing a woman in the present does. I really enjoy writing the fantasy of the 1950s vs. the harsh reality. Don't forget to review. I'm anxious to see what you think.