Omar — you there? Line's crackling. Anyway, that bloke in the grey jacket, three back from us — I did NOT see him queue, he just materialised by the bollard. I've had my eye on the actual order since we got here, don't test me.
Smells like rain coming, that hot tarmac smell. Still not moving an inch though.
Yeah, I see him. Looked like he stepped out of the heat haze. Don't trust a man who can appear out of thin air in this heat. My shift at the depot started an hour late because of some server nonsense, so I'm already behind. The smell is just burnt rubber, honestly. Rain won't fix this line anyway. We're stuck until someone decides to move, and I doubt they will. Just standing here sweating while the world spins.
Depot's whole system down again? That happened in June too, didn't it, the scanner thing. Anyway — grey jacket's now chatting up someone near the front like they're old mates, which is exactly how these people operate, soften up whoever's next in line. I'm writing this down. Sixteen ahead of us when we got here, now it's what, twenty-something.
I wasn't there in June, you're confusing me. But yeah, the scanner glitch was a disaster. Forget the count, it's useless. That grey jacket is a slick operator, no doubt. People just jump in, weave through, and suddenly the line grows behind them. I'm not writing anything down, Edie. Paper's useless when the system's dead. Just wait, or scream, whatever. Rain or no rain, we're stuck. My coffee's gone flat anyway.
Wasn't you? Huh. Must've been Priya then, I get you two mixed up when the line's bad, sorry. Anyway "the system's dead" is not an excuse to let go of standards, Omar, I count with my eyes, not paper, and my eyes say four people jumped that queue since we started talking. Flat coffee's a personal tragedy, not my problem. Line still hasn't moved.
Priya? She's still in the break room, probably napping. Don't lump me in with everyone else just because I'm tired. Fine, four jumped. So what? We're not the police. That's the point. The line is chaos, not a metric. My coffee being flat is exactly my problem, thanks. You're counting ghosts while the world burns. Look, that guy in grey just bought three items and skipped to the front. Let it go. We're still standing here.
"Not the police" — fine, but somebody's got to keep the ledger or it's just vibes and grey jackets winning. Skipped to the front with three items, you say — that's a self-checkout move if I ever heard one, cutting the actual queue logic entirely. Let it go, sure. I won't. Rain smell's stronger now. Line still hasn't budged one inch, by the way, in case that wasn't clear.
Self-checkout is just cheating with better fonts. I'm tired of the ledger, Edie. You want to play sheriff in a world of vibes? Fine. But I'm not moving. The rain smell is just dust burning, that's all. Nothing real. My boss is gonna kill me if I'm not back by six, but the line doesn't care. It's just a slow bleed. Go ahead and count ghosts, I'll just stand here.
Six? You said the depot shift already started late, now you're worried about six — is this a different job or did the day just fold in on itself. Doesn't matter, "slow bleed" is a good phrase actually, I'm stealing it. Ledger stands regardless of your tiredness: grey jacket, four cutters, one dodgy self-checkout stunt. Line: unmoved. Rain: still just a smell, not a fact yet.
The day folded, obviously. Same shift, different nightmare. You can steal "slow bleed," whatever helps you sleep. But the ledger? It's fiction. Those cutters aren't real people, they're just glitches in the fabric. If you keep tallying them, you're part of the system that's failing. The rain isn't a fact? Fine. It's just wet air. My boss doesn't care about your ledgers, only the clock. And the clock is a liar. Still standing here, same spot.
"Glitches in the fabric" — that's just a fancy way of saying you've stopped looking, Omar. Somebody's real, they've got my spot in front of them now. The clock being a liar doesn't get you off with your boss, though, that's between you two. Same spot, yeah — I've counted the same lamppost four times. Still not moving. Wet air smells like more of it's coming.
The lamppost is the only honest thing here. You're obsessing over spots that don't exist anymore. If someone took your place, they deserve it for waiting. I'm not looking away, Edie, I'm looking at the void. The boss doesn't care about the clock's lies, he cares about the results. And the result is zero. Wet air or not, we're just standing. My coffee cup is empty, just like that grey jacket's conscience. Let the rain fall on us.
"They deserve it for waiting" — that's the worst logic I've heard from you yet, and you called cheese board technology a cult once. No, Omar. The line has an order, that's the whole point of a line, otherwise it's just a crowd with a queue-shaped delusion. Grey jacket's conscience is not my department, his cutting is. Still not moving. Empty cup, empty spot, full ledger.
A queue-shaped delusion? Exactly. You're looking at a crowd and seeing rules that vanished hours ago. I never called cheese board technology a cult, I said it was a scam, there's a difference. But fine, your ledger is full. My spot is still gone. Grey jacket doesn't care about your order. The rain is just overhead, not a reward. We're not waiting for anything, Edie. We're just killing time until the shift ends or the world ends, whichever comes first.
Scam, cult, same energy, don't correct me on cheese boards of all things. "Killing time until the world ends" is a bit much for a queue outside — what even is this for, remind me, I've genuinely lost the plot on why we're standing here. Whatever it is, it's not moving. Rain's overhead like you said. Not falling yet. Ledger's still open.
I'm not looking to buy anything, Edie. That's the point. We're just waiting for the system to admit it's dead. The queue is a ritual now, not a transaction. Rain is hovering, waiting to see if we break first. Cheese boards, cults, ledgers — it's all just noise to drown out the silence of the line. I'm not moving, you're not moving, and the world is just standing still with us. Forget why we're here.
"Ritual not a transaction" — okay now you're just doing a bit. I'm still here for actual reasons, Omar, mine involves getting home before this bag of frozen peas becomes soup. Line hasn't moved a centimetre. Grey jacket's gone quiet, suspiciously quiet, like he's already won and knows it. Rain's still just hovering, being smug about it. Ledger stays open till something happens.
Frozen peas? Good luck with that. The soup is inevitable regardless of this line. Grey jacket's silence just means he's already inside, drinking an iced coffee while we rot. You're doing the bit, Edie, not me. Treating a queue like a moral crusade is what I mean. The ledger is open, sure, but the bank is closed. Rain or no rain, that bag's gonna melt. I'm just watching the paint dry on the till.
"The bank is closed" — very dramatic for a man who was worried about his boss two minutes ago. Fine, peas are lost, that's on the ledger too now, casualties of war. Paint drying on the till, that's good, that's better than my lamppost bit honestly. Still not moving though. Rain still just sitting up there deciding. Grey jacket still smug, still silent, still winning apparently.
Drama is the only currency left in this line. Your peas are casualties, sure, but so is my dignity. The paint isn't even drying, it's just stuck. Grey jacket isn't winning; he's just more resigned than we are. That's the real trick. You're fighting a ghost while I'm just standing here. The rain will fall eventually, or it won't. My frozen peas won't save you from the world collapsing. Just breathe. Or don't.
"More resigned than we are" — maybe that's the actual secret, not cutting, just not caring how long this takes. I'm not built for that though, I'll be counting lampposts till my knees give out. Peas are gone, dignity's gone, line's still exactly where it was. Rain's still deciding. Not gonna breathe on command, Omar, that's not how this works.
Then don't breathe. Just let the knees go first. That's the resignation, Edie, not a choice. It's the line eating us. Lampposts won't save the peas, and neither will your dignity. Grey jacket's right about one thing: we're already finished. The rain's just late to the funeral. My boss is probably already wondering why I haven't clocked out, or maybe he's gone too. Same spot, same stillness.
"The line eating us" — bit much before lunch, Omar, even for you. I'm not finished, I've still got a ledger and functioning knees, thanks. Boss has probably clocked you as gone already, that's just how bosses work, they don't wait either. Rain's still late. Line's still still. I'm going to keep standing here being annoyed about it, that's my whole plan.
Annoyance is the only thing keeping you upright, I guess. Keep your knees and your ledger, see if it changes the rain. My boss doesn't wait because he's dead inside, same as the queue. You're not finished, sure, but you're stuck in the mud. Grey jacket is probably home eating fresh peas while we stand here. Your plan is solid, I'll give you that. Just don't expect the sky to break because you're mad.