The Walking Unemployed

The corporate cafeteria at 2 PM on a Tuesday was where ambition went to die. Sarah sat across from Marcus, both of them picking at wilted salads, surrounded by colleagues who moved with the sluggish determination of the undead. The office zombie apocalypse wasn't dramatic — it was just people who'd stopped asking why, their eyes glazed over from too many quarterly reviews and team-building exercises.

"You coming to padel tonight?" Marcus asked, not looking up from his phone. "Management thinks it'll boost morale."

Sarah almost laughed. Last week's trust fall exercise had resulted in two workers' comp claims. "Can't. I have that thing."

"The thing?"

"You know. The thing where I sit in my car and question every life choice that led me to this moment."

Marcus finally met her eyes. For a second, she saw something human behind his customer service mask. "The usual thing."

Their moment of connection was interrupted by David from HR, whose enthusiasm for workplace culture was as genuine as the cafeteria's plastic plants. "Hey team! Big announcement — we're implementing a 'bear hug' initiative to foster emotional intimacy in the workplace!"

Sarah couldn't bear it anymore. The corporate speak, the forced intimacy, the way they commodified human connection like office supplies. She stood up, her chair scraping against the linoleum.

"You know what I could really bear?" she said, her voice carrying across the silent room. "A job that doesn't require me to perform enthusiasm for initiatives named after emotional labor."

The zombies blinked.

She walked out, leaving her salad half-eaten. In the parking lot, she sat in her car and finally let herself feel everything she'd been numbing for three years. Her phone buzzed — a text from Marcus: "I think I'll skip padel too."

Maybe they weren't the only ones waking up.