The leaf-blight crisis has pushed FEMA to scatter tea-nap bunkers through city centers. Reviewers award them a tepid 2.5 stars because the recliners sit well enough yet refuse any meeting before eleven. Portland evacuees mutter about lost productivity points while Seattle merchants slap surge prices on single-serve bags and cite the usual legal escape hatch.
Workers now face an official start time of 11:17 a.m. Mary Dorrington, an office refugee, sits in a narrow cot nursing lukewarm chamomile and wonders how recovery from missing Earl Grey became a scheduled event. Local HOA president Ted Manfield continues arguing for an earlier snooze, though only the bunker walls hear him.
The National Tea Association warns that leaf stocks are thinning fast, which may soon force afternoon singalongs on every remaining employee. The 11 a.m. workday culture looks increasingly fragile when tea itself threatens to vanish.
