six feet deep.

They asked me to — no, scrap that — they told me to — no, wait — they instructed me to make — no: manufacture! certain objects out of spaghetti-thick metal wire to exact specifications and of no apparent use. No apparent use to me, in any case. My job was to make those objects shiny, easy-to-manipulate and physically attractive to the consumer in search of such a device.
No intention or purpose of the thing had been identified and communicated to the workers on the assembly line. I was, for a considerably long period of time, unaware of the mission of the exercise, and of the significance of my work, in general.
One day (it must’ve been a Tuesday, because Tuesdays were especially frustrating) I approached my supervisor and said to her, “What’s this thing we’re assembling, anyway?”
And she said, “You’re a dreamer, you don’t belong.”
And I was left wondering whether my question had been answered.