Why we don't write about work - or do we?

Started Brian Loory's story "TV" in The New Yorker, didn't finish - I know, it's a very short story, but I got home really late and the Red Sox were playing the Yankees... Anyway, story is about a guy who stays home from work and turns on the TV and watches a guy sitting at his desk in an office and gradually realizes he is watching himself at work. Over time, he continues to watch the show, but his "self" moves around the channels onto several other shows: watches himself perform heart surgery on a medical show (then has sex with the prettiest nurse - best sex he'd had in years, the unnamed protagonist notes), break up a drug ring on a cop show, etc. In some ways this is a sharp commentary on how we watch media, how we live vicariously through it. In other ways, it's about the thin membrane that separates so-called reality TV from dramatic television. It's also about the alienation of office life - a subject that has been treated comically both on TV (The Office) and film (Office Space), though less so in fiction. I saw an essay recently, somewhere, wondering why it is that most people spend most of their lives at work but there is relatively little fiction about work (maybe because most writers don't spend most of their lives at work, in a conventional sense?). There are some exceptions, though, from Heller and Yates to more recent books like I think it's called Then We Came to the End, The Bug (about Silicon Valley work) - and that doesn't count the many newspaper novels (typical work for many writers such as this one). So I think it's a false premise, there are a lot of novels about work, but not so many about office work other than novels of comic high anxiety.