I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now, like, it’s not really *sadness* but it’s definitely not good. More like… a dull ache? You know when you get that weird internal vibration when you’re really tired but also kinda wired? That. So, it was late afternoon, end of the day, and I had to go from the 10th floor down to the lobby for this "synergy" meeting the higher-ups scheduled last minute. The elevator was PACKED. Shoulder-to-shoulder, the whole shebang. And everyone’s doing that typical Friday chat, like "Any plans for the long weekend?" or "Oh, I’m finally gonna try that new ramen place." Standard office banter, right? And I’m just standing there, kinda squished between Brenda from accounts and Mark from marketing, holding my laptop bag tight so it doesn’t swing into anyone’s face. The weirdest thing happened though. No one… *no one* looked at me. Not one person made eye contact. It’s not like I was trying to butt into their conversations, but I was *right there*. Part of the group, ostensibly. Brenda was literally talking about her cat’s weird new habit of licking the carpet, and I swear her gaze went straight through me to Mark. And Mark, he just kept nodding, like I was transparent. It wasn't even hostile, which would almost be easier to understand, you know? It was just… an absence. Like I was a ghost. A really, really well-dressed ghost in an expensive, slightly too-tight suit. Haha. And the whole ride down, like, ten floors, people are talking over me, around me, their arms brushing against mine as they gestured, and it was like I wasn't corporeal. I could feel the fabric of Brenda’s cardigan, I could smell Mark’s cologne, but they couldn't perceive me. It felt like some kind of, I don't know, a derealization event for *them*, not me. Like I was a glitch in their matrix, a background extra they hadn't rendered properly. And then the doors opened, and everyone just flowed out, still chatting, still oblivious, and I just stood there for a second, like, did that actually happen? Was I even there? I ended up just going back to my desk instead of that meeting. I couldn't face it. Because if I'm invisible in an elevator, what am I in a room full of people I'm supposed to be pitching ideas to? I’m thinking about it now and it’s kinda funny, in a dark, existential way. Like, is this what peak professional achievement looks like? Becoming so integrated into the corporate machine that you achieve a state of pure, unadulterated non-existence? It’s almost impressive, actually. But it also just feels… hollow. And I really don't know what to do with that feeling.