Ralph sneered. "You think not? I'm telling you. There ain't many stiffs here plugged into the life of Socrates or St. Francis of Assisi, and that's a fact."
Sam took a while to digest all that. Then a puzzled expression wrinkled his doughy features. "What have you got against sex?"
Ralph looked at him impatiently. "Nothing, except I maybe don't get enough."
Sam's voice became morose. "I don't get any… except…"
Ralph cut him off. "I don't want to hear what you get up to when you're away from here."
It was drawing toward the end of the shift. It was that part of the day when Ralph was drunk belligerent and Sam was little short of comatose. Ralph would rant, and Sam would stare dully into space. It was the point when communication was at a minimum.
In between outbursts, Ralph would sit grim and hunched until he had worked up enough bile for another one. It was during these silences that Sam would throw out the occasional remark.
"Ralph?"
"What?"
"How do you know?"
"How do I know what?"
"How do you know that all they want is sex? You've never been in a feelie."
"I've seen the catalog, haven't I?"
"What catalog?"
"The catalog of all the different feelie experiences that they offer."
"I've never seen that."
"You know when you first sign on they give you a guided tour of one of the reception centers."
Sam looked glum. "They never took me on the tour."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. They just kind of left me behind."
"They left you behind?"
"Yeah."
Ralph hesitated. He seemed about to make some comment. He changed his mind. "Well, anyway. While they were going on about what a great thing the feelies were for humanity, I managed to get a good look at the catalog. That's when I first decided that it was all bullshit."
"I don't think it's bullshit."
Ralph's lip curled. "What do you know about it?"
"I know I'd like to get in a feelie."
"I'm telling you, it's all just sex and violence. It's about the lowest you can get."
Sam inspected his fingers. "Sometimes I think that we're the lowest you can get."
"What?"
"Nothing."
They lapsed into another sullen silence. Sam started playing with the zip on his overall. First he'd pull it down for about six inches, then he would pull it up again. He did it over and over. Ralph watched him. His irritation increased with each run of the zip.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"At least they're quiet."
"Huh?"
"At least they're quiet."
"Who are?"
"The stiffs."
"What the hell are you going on about now?"
"The stiffs, at least they're quiet."
"Of course they're quiet. They're always quiet. They're stiffs. They're quiet by definition."
"I didn't mean that."
"You didn't mean that?"
"No."
Ralph was visibly controlling himself. "So what the hell did you mean?"
"I guess I mean… I don't know. I think I've forgotten."
Sam went back to playing with his zip.
"Do you have to do that?"
"It passes the time."
"Like the stiffs, I suppose."
"What?"
"Passing the time."
"Oh… yeah."
"You're a great conversationalist."
"I am?"
"Jesus Christ!"
Ralph looked at his watch. There was another hour of the shift still to go. Ralph's bottle was empty, and he wanted another drink. It had to be the worst time of the shift. He got to his feet and paced up and down the row of cabinets. There was a dull ache in the back of his head. After four or five turns along the row, he stopped and stared down at Sam.
"I'm sick of this fucking job."
"It's a job."
"I'd be better off on welfare."
"You wouldn't like it on welfare."
"Why not?"
"I wouldn't like it on welfare. I like to have a job. It gives me some self-respect."
"Self-respect?"
"That's right."
"Listen, what the hell do you know about self-respect? ''
"I do the job I'm paid for. That's self-respect."
"You reckon?"
"Yeah."
"You sit around all day and gobble down tranquilizers. That's when you're not staring at the girl in the cabinet like some lovesick calf."
"I don't think that's fair."
"It's true enough."
"Maybe that's what I'm paid for."
"And that's what keeps your precious self-respect together?"
"I suppose so."
"You're weird, Sam."
"No."
"No, what?"
"I don't think I'm weird."
Ralph looked at him in amazement. "You don't?"
"I think I'm pretty average, really."
Ralph closed his eyes with an expression of pain. "Anything you say, Sam."
Ralph went back to pacing. Sam went back to playing with his zip. Ralph looked at his watch again. Fifty-five minutes to go. It had to be the most boring job on God's earth. They could at least give them something to do. If there was some real work to fill the time, he wouldn't have to drink so much, and he wouldn't have to get involved in these pointless conversations with Sam. For the hundredth time, he resolved to throw the whole thing in and take his chances on the street.
Ralph became aware that Sam had stopped fiddling with his overalls and was watching him intently. Ralph swung around and snapped at him. "What's the matter with you now?"
"Nothing."
"You look like you're about to come out with some portentous remark."
"What does portentous mean?"
"Forget it."
"You shouldn't use words like that if you ain't prepared to explain what they mean."
"I just work with you, right? I ain't no teacher."
"You don't have to be like that about it."
"I don't?"
"We might as well try and get along."
Ralph sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Okay."
"I was going to say something."
"You were?"
"Yeah."
Ralph waited, but Sam didn't go on. After about a minute, Ralph couldn't stand it any longer.
"So?"
"So what?"
"So what were you going to say?"
Sam looked dolefully at Ralph. "I don't think you'd be interested."
"You'll probably tell me anyway."
"I don't think I'll bother."
"Oh, Jesus. Get it out."
"I was watching TV last night."
"You watch TV?"
"Of course I watch TV. Everyone watches TV."
"And that's it?"
"I was watching TV last night. There was this show about telepathy.''
"You watch the egghead shows?"
"I watch all kinds of things. I like TV."
"So what about telepathy?"
"Well, it seems to me that if we could all read each other's minds we'd get really paranoid."
"We would?"
"Yeah. I mean, it's bad enough having to watch what you say. Just imagine if you had to watch everything you thought."
"I'm imagining."
"Well?"
"Well?"
"It wouldn't be very nice, would it? I think we'd all get very paranoid."
Ralph was a picture of disbelief. "What in God's name does that have to do with anything?"
Sam looked mildly surprised. "Nothing."
"Then why tell me about it?"