Easy Job

Mr. Wish says that my job is to manage the queue. That seems easy enough. Everyone's standing in line all by themselves, and no one's trying to cut in. Nobody's causing a ruckus, either. I don't have to do anything at all. What concerns me is: why does everyone in the queue look so similar? Are twins common these days? And they're all wearing the same clothes; I can't tell them apart. Well, it doesn't matter. Mr. Wish isn't paying me to think. He's a good boss, and I don't want to let him down.