"It's true," says a sensible woman sitting in the first row, just off-center. "There's so much pressure to-" "Poor you," Captain Individuality bellows coldly from a few seats back. "Yeah, poor you," his mindless twins chirp mockingly. She's startled to silence, and with expressions of self-satisfaction, the homogenous triplet of "individuals" know they've done their job. Order is restored.