The waters knew what it was to be battered to and fro. They had long given up asking why, having realized that questioning the relentless push and pull was as useful as asking a paper towel why it absorbs coffee spills. So they simply went with it.

Every morning, like clockwork, they were nudged awake by the wind, poked and prodded by the tide. The waters didn’t mind this at first—it was part of their routine. Just like how every office worker has to endure the awkward small talk at the coffee machine or the soul-sucking meetings where no one ever really says anything, the waters simply endured their own version of the daily grind.

The wind, of course, fancied itself the CEO of this whole operation. “I’m bringing change!” it howled with the enthusiasm of a motivational speaker at a mandatory corporate retreat. The waters, unimpressed, rolled their eyes. “Change? You? Again?” It was the same speech every day, the same gusts, the same tired waves crashing onto the shore. The waters knew all too well that the wind was just here to make things seem exciting without actually doing anything productive.

But worse than the wind was the moon, the real micromanager in this operation. Like an overbearing boss who schedules check-ins every hour, the moon constantly yanked at the waters, pulling them back and forth with no clear direction. “You’re sloshing too far left,” the moon would mutter. “Now too far right. Come on, we need synergy here.”

The waters would sigh, but they obeyed, moving this way and that, knowing full well that this was all for show. The tides didn’t really accomplish anything, but the moon liked to feel important, and the waters had long learned that it was easier to just go along with it.

Once in a while, the sun would try to inject some positivity into the whole ordeal. “Look at the bright side!” it would beam down from above, casting a warm glow over the scene. “We’re all part of something bigger here!”

The waters would squint up at the sky, vaguely annoyed. “Yeah, yeah, bigger picture and all that,” they muttered. “Still doesn’t change the fact that we’re stuck in this never-ending meeting of tidal forces.”

And so, the waters carried on, jostled by the wind, pulled by the moon, and occasionally blinded by the sun’s insistent optimism. They knew what it was to be battered to and fro, not unlike the office worker who knows what it is to be sent on pointless tasks by higher-ups with no clue what’s really happening on the ground.

And just like that office worker, the waters had resigned themselves to their fate, enduring the daily grind of nature’s bureaucracy. Sure, they sometimes dreamed of a day when the wind would stop yelling about change and the moon would just let them be, but those were idle fantasies. After all, as the waters had come to realize, being battered to and fro was just part of the job description.