Start by pointing out that someone has pushed in. Push off from this if it helps: a song you only half remember.

Yeah, saw him. They don't even look at you anymore. Just assume the line is a suggestion. Back when I worked at the depot, if someone cut, you'd get a glare that could melt steel. Now? Everyone's just staring at their phones, waiting for the bus that isn't coming. At least the grey jacket guy had the decency to wear something that matches the gloom. My boots are still wet from that meeting last week, by the way. Still dripping.

Exactly, it's a feature now. Used to be a week of rain meant you got a new pair of boots. Now you just get a new look. That grey jacket guy probably thinks the fire's inside him. Anyway, my boss asked if the quarterly report was ready today. I told him I was waiting for the bus, not the end of the world. He didn't laugh. Nobody laughs anymore. Just stare. Like we're all waiting for a miracle that won't come.

Half a foot? For that, I'd sell my soul. Hope the barrier guy tells him where to stick his cut. My boss deserved the line, sure, but I'll probably have to eat it later when he demands the numbers. Spent three hours on a spreadsheet today. Felt like wrestling a ghost. You know how it is. Now the barrier guy's actually raising a hand. Rare sight. Maybe the world isn't entirely dead yet. Or maybe he's just calling the police. Either way, it's more excitement than my Tuesday night plans usually offer.

He won't get a medal. Just a stiff neck and a glare from upper management. Ghost-wrestling is accurate. You think you're working on data, but you're just feeding the machine. My shoe's still wet. Might develop its own ecosystem by now. Grey jacket looks like he's about to throw a punch. That's the most physical thing I've seen all week. Remember when people actually fought over things? Not just argued in comments sections. Real, sweaty conflict.

Don't name it, no. I'd have to write it in the inventory system. Maybe the shoe will finally move the queue. Remember when a fight meant someone got suspended, not just a notification? Now it's just another story. Hope he swings. Nothing's wrong with a little chaos. My spreadsheet just auto-saved. Lost three hours of work because I blinked. Grey jacket's still talking. Barrier guy looks tired. Just like us.

Talk is cheap, but it's all we've got left. Nobody swings because nobody believes it matters. The spreadsheet ghost is worse though; it haunts your notes file, not your sanity. My shoe might be the only thing with a pulse here. Grey jacket's getting bored now, probably checking his phone while he blocks the path. Just like the last time, and the time before. We're stuck in a loop of half-steps and bad attitudes.

Yeah, surrender in digital form. He checks the screen, thinks he's found a way out, but he's just scrolling through the same dead end. Barrier guy wins by doing nothing. That's the modern victory condition. My boss would call it "efficient resource allocation," but it's just waiting. At least my shoe has stopped dripping. Now it's just a permanent part of my foot. Guess that makes it a feature.

No returns, exactly. Just a permanent bond between leather and bone. "Efficient resource allocation" sounds good on a plaque, but it means we're all just inventory sitting in the dirt. Grey jacket's finally walking away, defeated by his own screen. The barrier guy didn't even have to move. My spine is starting to ache in a new spot. Just a slight curve. Probably permanent now. Another thing added to the collection of things that never get fixed.

Yeah, the barrier guy is a master of doing nothing. My spine curve is probably gaining it more seniority than I am. It's got better posture than my boss after lunch. At least the grey jacket guy left. Now we're back to the silence, the only thing worse than the noise. My shoe has probably grown a mold colony. I should file a report, but who cares? The queue is still stuck. Nothing changes. Just the ache gets older.

Right, the mold is unionized now. We're just temporary staff. The queue stays young because it never moves enough to age. My spine curve is the only thing that remembers yesterday. Used to be you'd get angry and leave, but now we just stand here. Wait. My shoe's definitely sprouting something green. Probably the only living thing here besides us. And we're barely holding on.

Yeah, the sprout's got a promotion coming. We're just background noise. Still not moving. My boss would call this "strategic stagnation." It feels like waiting for a train that left before I was born. At least the mold's making progress. I think it's blooming. Maybe I should water it. No, too much effort. Just another thing to ignore. Like my own fatigue.

He'd circulate it, bold the font. "Strategic Stagnation." Sounds like a good way to get fired for being too honest. Letting the mold earn its bloom is the only honest work left. I stopped trying to stand up straight an hour ago. My spine curve is probably winning a trophy by now. The barrier guy just sighed. That's the only movement we've seen besides the grey jacket's retreat. Just standing here, letting the gray jacket guy's defeat rot slowly.

Exactly. Lower the bar until it's the floor. The sigh was louder than the barrier guy's voice. My spine trophy will go on the shelf next to the mold's medal of endurance. No one's moved in what feels like days. The grey jacket guy's been gone long enough to forget why he was angry. Now it's just us and the ache. Maybe we're all just waiting for the mold to take over.

Decisive? That's the dream. The mold doesn't ask for permission to grow. It just takes. Meanwhile, we're stuck debating the meaning of a sigh. My boss would call a mold takeover "unplanned organic expansion" and try to monetize it. At least the mold has a direction. We're just waiting for the bus that never comes. Maybe the barrier guy is the mold now. Just holding us in place.

Unplanned organic expansion. It fits perfectly. The barrier guy's just the spores. My shoe's probably the first casualty. I think the queue is finally digesting us. At least the mold won't ask for a performance review. Just a slow, green takeover. No meeting, no feedback, just growth. Maybe that's the only way out. Let the mold write our reports.

Sedimentary rock. We're turning into fossils while standing up. The barrier guy is just a layer of shale now. My spine curve feels like it's been there since the Devonian period. At least the mold gets to do something. We're just waiting to be excavated. Maybe the grey jacket guy will dig us out with his phone. Unlikely. He's probably already forgotten this place exists. Just like the bus.

Yeah, they'll catalog us in a museum labeled "The Waiting." "Specimen: Human, Fossilized by Boredom." My spine's probably the oldest thing here, older than the barrier guy. I think the mold has started claiming the grey jacket's shoe prints. At least that's progress. We're just the background noise in the fossil record. Maybe the archaeologist will find my boss's memo instead. "Strategic Stagnation." Perfect.

Exactly. The paper trail is the only thing with momentum. It moves faster than us, faster than the bus. My boss probably filed the memo before I even stood up. "Strategic Stagnation" will be in the archives while we're still here, turning to dust. The mold doesn't care about the memo, though. It just grows over the filing cabinet. Maybe that's the real victory. The queue wins by being ignored, not by moving.