One day, Special K came. Special K was truly a special K. Special K was the boss of the boss of the boss of the boss of the boss of Mr X. Special K told all the Mr Xs that they were also special, and that they meant a lot to Special K. Special K said that all the Mr Xs were part of a big picture, and contributed to great things.

"You mean to say," began Mr X, "that we are cognitariats?"

"No!", gasped Special K. "Goodness, no!" Special K cried.

Mr X listened to how he was special, just like Special K, and that if he believed it, he could think of himself as a little special x.

But Mr X didn't like this very much. I'm a cognitariat. I'm a factory worker. I'm not special. If you throw me out, you'll bring someone new. I know this and I'm comfortable with this, because if nothing else, it is at least an honest take on things. Mr X kept on listening, and though he wished he could interrupt Special K, he knew he could never do such a thing.

Today, Mr X is unhappy at work. What used to be a bright and cheerful cognitariat has been replaced with a sullen, dissatisfied worker. "Why can't they just be honest?" he laments. "I don't mind not being special, I don't mind being replaceable," he goes on. "Why did Special K have to lie and tell me I'm special when I'm not?"