I changed before the lecture. White cropped JK top, the hem just below my ribs. The fabric stretched tight across my chest, the buttons straining slightly – not from poor fit, but from the fullness beneath. The waist was drawn in, showing a narrow, defined line. The back was largely open, thin straps crossing in an X, with a small silver gear hanging at the intersection on my spine. Navy blue pleated mini skirt, the hem ending high on the thigh, leaving the legs fully visible. Orange over‑the‑knee stockings. My ash‑gold hair was tied in a high ponytail.
A touch of light makeup – just a thin layer of nude lipstick, brows and eyes softly defined, barely there. Around my neck, the black satin choker with the dark blue crystal. Wine‑red ribbons were woven through my hair, a silver gear hairpin at the end. Silver ear threads dangled from my earlobes, ending in black obsidian.
Dianzi stood beside me in her own JK outfit. Light grey cropped top, also stretched tight across her chest, the buttons under similar tension. Her waist was cinched, and her back was open with X‑straps, a small cloud hanging at the intersection. Wine‑red tie. White pleated skirt, hem high on the thigh. Red over‑the‑knee stockings. Her purple‑pink hair was pinned in a fluffy bun. No makeup – just clean skin. Mother‑of‑pearl clips shone in her hair. Two fine chains layered on her left wrist. A pink crystal anklet flashed on her left ankle.
She touched her choker. A faint blue glow flickered, and her floating interface appeared.
"My treasures, today we're attending a career development lecture."
[chat] JK!
[chat] Wife looks like a student today 🎒
[chat] That back detail is amazing
The lecture hall was on the third deck, usually a theatre. Red folding chairs were arranged in rows, seating about two hundred people. The aisles were narrow – knees nearly touched the backs of the chairs ahead.
The air smelled of photocopier toner, sweat, and coffee. Some people stood at the back, some sat on the steps, some leaned against the wall. Everyone held a resume. Some rolled into tubes, some in clear plastic folders, some with curled edges pressed flat by nervous fingers.
A man in a grey suit stood on the stage. His hair was heavily gelled. He cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone.
"Dear job seekers, welcome to today's career development lecture. I am a senior consultant from a well‑known HR firm."
He pointed to a cardboard box on the floor beside the stage. Corrugated material, edges sealed with tape. The words Resume Drop‑off were written on the side in black marker.
"After the lecture, you may place your resumes here. We will organise them and forward them to our partner companies."
The box was open. Some resumes were already inside.
[chat] That box looks so shabby 📦
[chat] Is this legit?
[chat] I'm not looking for a job
The lecture began. The grey‑suit man talked about the usual things – keep your resume concise, highlight your strengths, quantify your achievements, no typos. Some people took notes. Some stared into space. Some scrolled on their phones.
Near the end, he pointed to the box again. "You may now submit your resumes."
The crowd moved. Not a rush – a slow, hesitant shuffle. Some walked straight to the box, dropped their resumes in, and walked away quickly. Others stood at the edge, watching.
The box filled fast. Resumes spilled over the edge. People placed theirs beside the box, stacking them higher and higher.
A man in a grey suit – not the speaker, another one – walked to the box. He held a single sheet of paper. He placed it on top of the pile, then stood there. Not moving. Just standing.
He stood for a long time. His shoulders were tight.
Behind him, a young woman with a ponytail waited. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She looked at the box, then at her resume, then at the box again.
A tourist with a camera walked past. He was blonde, wearing a bright blue shirt. He raised his phone and filmed the queue. "This is worse than back home," he said to his companion. His voice carried.
A man near the front turned and glared at him. The man had been standing in line for over an hour. His face was red. His jaw was tight.
The tourist lowered his phone and walked away.
The line moved forward one step.
——The box is finite. But people's expectations are not. They keep stacking until they collapse.
A staff member dragged the cardboard box towards the door. The bottom was wet from spilled coffee. A resume slipped off the top and fell to the floor.
A man in brown leather shoes stepped on it. He didn't notice. His weight pressed the paper into the carpet. The shoe print was clear – size forty‑three, the toes pointing outward.
He kept walking.
No one picked up the resume.
[chat] That's so sad
[chat] Thousands of resumes for a few jobs
[chat] The system is broken
I touched my choker. The blue light dimmed.
"Let's go," I said.
Dianzi followed me towards the exit. She looked back once at the box. The staff member had already dragged it out of sight.
"Sister."
"Yes, I know what you're going to ask. Those resumes – when the box is full, they go beside it. When that's full, they go on the floor. When that's full, they get cleared away."
"And after that?"
"Recycled. Or maybe they just disappear – like the people who wrote them, invisible until they get a call."
She didn't ask again.
We walked into the corridor. The sea wind blew through the porthole, lifting our skirts. I held mine down and walked faster.
Through the porthole, the sea was very blue. The clouds were very white.
Nothing else.