I am a Pod

I think that my superiors are playing an office version of the Sims on a game cube. Anyone in a cube is a Sim character. They have set up an office for us to work in, assigned us a desk, picked out our clothes, what time we work, how long of a lunch we take, designated us tasks, and dictate what we can or cannot say to clients. They even tell us when to go to the bathroom--ok just kidding on that part. You get the idea. I don't have any room to complain because I submitted to this when taking the position--we all did. However, the line was crossed last week when we had a special meeting on what was appropriate to discuss co-worker to co-worker. Not only did we discuss it as a group but then we had to role play. I have never felt so inhuman as I did at that point. Why don't they just insert a chip in the back of my neck already? Am I caught in the Matrix? If I take a little red pill, will I wake up to reality?
Morpheus: The pill you took is part of a trace program. It's designed to disrupt your input/output carrier signal so we can pinpoint your location.
Neo: What does that mean?
Cypher: It means buckle your seatbelt, Dorothy, 'cause Kansas is going bye-bye.