There was a man, you may assume that I may have been acquainted with him at some point, or if you prefer it, he may have been a figment of my imagination. One can never tell these things exactly. This man ran a reasonable business, so lets call him; boss. Wait, Boss-with a capital B, if I am correct in my recollections of the English language, names start with Capitols.

Boss was a happy man. Was he content with life? I think not. How can anyone think themselves content just by comparing lifestyles with the lesser ordained? Because that’s what he did, he looked down on the vermin he called his employees, or was it employees he called vermin? (One can never tell these things exactly). No, he did not harass them in any way. Any way illegal. He may have raped every single girl in that office with his eyes. But only with his eyes. He may have thrown directors out top-floor windows in his mind. But only in his mind.

Let us focus on one day, for then I may be able to summarize my story accordingly. Again, this is a particular day, be it Monday, Wednesday, Thursday (I vacation on Tuesdays, so I’d rather not mention it in my work). Being a particular day, I may use the same grammatical nuance and call it Day-with a capitol D.

On this Day, Boss was passing through the heart land of his business empire. The middle class factory, The Sweat Pit. Perhaps today he graced this area with his presence to get to a working elevator (using the stairs is a past time for poor people). He passed by a cubicle. Glanced in actually as he walked by, with time enough to see a bent over back of Worker-with a capitol W engrossed in his work. Boss smiled, “Ah, what it is like working in a cubicle, the same work, same routine,day in day out”.

The available elevator did work, all the way to the ground floor. Boss got into his expensive chauffeured car and made his way towards his private country club (those places where a person might drop by, if he had an excessive amount of money, to play golf, lounge around, and meet other people with excessive amounts of money who have also dropped by, to play golf, lounge around…), there he played 9 hole games over picture perfect landscaped golf courses, maintaining a personal average of 17, and parring on the 5th as always. Then he had a few drinks with his golf friends who had excessive amounts of money, discussed work, and went home. He’s greeted by his trophy wife. Fourth trophy wife of course (did you think he was a farmer?). Such and such happens thereafter that I need not mention. It’s the same as the next day anyway, and the next.

The same work, same routine,day in day out.

Perhaps we may be fortunate enough to work outside of four partitioned walls. But does it mean that we are completely removed of a partitioned life? Or is it just that our life in a four walled cubicle is large enough to go unnoticed every day. For years. Until the day, THAT day, a day so named that when it arrives we cannot simply state it as Day-with a capitol D, but rather DAY as it is so important a name, a DAY when we look back, and are suddenly shocked by the unfortunate revelation that we have been living a compartmentalized life.

A compartmentalized life, with sticky notes along the walls, horrid wallpaper, an un-watered house plant, half an expired sandwich collecting fungi behind over-piled worksheets, and in fact, the only thing that seems to have changed is the amount of work you’ve busied yourself with all these years at your micro desk, which is already overpowered by a bulky computer monitor and keyboard, with no leg space underneath due to the occupation of a CPU and waste basket (in which that sandwich should have been disposed).

Have you begun to notice the cubicle you’ve built yourself?

Back in office, Worker smiles contently as he handles his work with delicacy and care, no mistakes today, he needs to be squeaky clean to get his recommendation letter after he quits his job tomorrow. It’s time for a fresh start.

Time to walk out that cubicle door.