"Gwan!  There's no such thing!"
    "Is too!  Mack told me."
    "He's making it up.  Can't you tell when he's pulling your leg?"
    "I tell you, it's true!"
    "Ok, let's go ask  the Philosopher Twit.  He'll know."

    Hearing the gentle tapping on the partition, the Philosopher Twit turned to greet the two visitors at the opening of his cube.
    "Ah," he said with something resembling enthusiasm. "Paul!  Marcus!  What's up, guys?"
    "Hey, Ph. T.  Marcus says he heard about a place where people work 40 hours a week and never carry a pager.  I say that's poppycock!"
    "It is not!" Marcus protested.
    "People work 40 hours here," said the Ph. T., a bit coyly.
    "Yeah, but he means only 40 hours."
    "Ah, I see," said the Ph. T. "Well, let me tell you a little story that ought to clear this up for you.  Once upon a time, there was a cube farm of workers who were imprisoned in their cubicles.  All they could see was their monitors.  If they turned to the left, their pagers went off.  It they turned to the right their telephones rang.  So they had to stare straight ahead.  Now, if anyone or anything passed behind them, all they could see was a reflection on their monitor screens, and those were always pretty full up with the assignments they were working on, so they never got to see anything clearly.  Well, one day, one of the cube farm inmates escaped."
    "How did he manage that?" objected Paul.  "What with the pagers and telephones and all that."
    "The battery in his pager went dead," explained the Ph. T.  "And he just happened to make a left turn at the opportune moment.  In any case, this escapee, astounded at his good fortune, fled the cube farm to see the world."
    "And what did he see?" asked Marcus, anticipating 40 hour weeks and no pagers.
    "He was flabbergasted by the variety he saw before him," continued the Ph. T.  "Wondrous and amazing sights for as far as the eye could see."
    "Yes?  Yes?" urged Marcus.
    "Oh, they were all cube farms, of course," said the Ph. T.  "But some were in gigantic, multistoried buildings, some were in moderate sized buildings, and some were in mere single story buildings."
    "Uh, that doesn't sound so great," said Marcus disappointedly.
    "But that wasn't all!" said the Ph. T.  "When he looked more closely, he discovered that the inmates worked at different jobs!  Some were accountants!  Some were computer programmers!  Some were human resource specialists!  Some were engineers!  And maybe a couple of other things, too.  Not only that, but they had different benefits!  Some had one HMO, some had another!"
    "What about hours and pagers and things?" asked Marcus dispiritedly.
    "Oh, yes!  Not all the pagers were the same!  There were all different brands and styles.  And some people didn't even use pagers!"
    "They didn't?" asked Marcus excitedly.
     "Absolutely not!  They used cell phones instead!"
    "Hours?" squeaked Marcus.
    "Oh, they all worked 24 X 7, of course.  But wait!  I'm not done.  Our hero did not forget where he came from.  No, he didn't.  He returned to his cube farm to tell the others what he had seen!"
    "And?" asked Paul and Marcus obediently.
    "'Brothers!  Sisters!,' he exclaimed. 'I have seen the outside!'  And they said just what you did, 'And?'
    "'It's not all like it is in here!'
    "'It isn't?' they prompted hopefully.
    "'No!  There are small differences!'
    "'How small?' they asked.
    "'Um, very small.  Everything's pretty much the same, but I thought you ought to know, anyway.'
    "'Look, we don't want to hear this,' they said.
    "'But don't you believe me?  Don't you want to know what the real world is like?'
    "'Heck, no!' they said. 'We're depressed enough as it is.  Somewhere in the outback of our minds, we have this glimmer of hope that maybe things could be different, you know?  We don't need you mucking up our fantasies!'
    "At just that moment, the Voice of Management was heard in the cube farm, and the Voice of Management said, 'Time for layoffs.  You!  Smart guy!  The one who ran off during working hours!  You're first!'"
    "You mean there were nonworking hours, Ph. T.?" asked Paul incredulously.
    "Oh, of course not.  It just sounds more impressive to say 'ran off during working hours.'"
    "And the moral is ...?" asked Paul and Marcus together.
    "Shut up and go back to work," said the Ph. T. "The work may be stressful and depressing.  It may give you cancer and heart disease.  It may eat your soul.  But you're lucky to have a job.  Whoops!  There goes my pager!"
    "You must've turned too far to the left," suggested Paul.