Zombies By In Bulk

Another one from CMJ:

I drove to work in a complete fog this morning. The last thing I remember was getting multi-colored poop on my finger, just moments before walking out my door, and the next thing I know, I'm sitting at my desk with a Diet Coke and a peanut butter cup in hand. I'm pretty sure there was hand washing involved in there some where. At least let's hope there was, right?

I vaguely remember looking in my rear view mirror and marveling at how fast roots seem to appear on the top of my head these days. I also saw a license plate that said WNDHORS. I was curious as to what a Wind Whore was but it's a all a fleeting memory at this point.

As I rounded the curve on the highway approaching my usual exit I noticed the homeless guy still has a tent pitched on the side of the road. I'm so curious about that too.

Last night, on my way home, I did the office shopping at one of those really big warehouse stores, you know the kind where you have to have a membership and buy everything in bulk.

I do this about twice a month, spending at least $300 each trip. Which means my cart is loaded past the brim and stacked over my head. What amazes me each time, is that, evidently, the general rules of traffic do not apply to store aisles and everyone is out for themselves.

I usually have cases of soda loaded up so that they are, literally, taller than I am. I push and shove this cart around, peering around the side, being mindful of those around me. I stop at intersections, waiting for others to go, so I don't ram them. I stick to the right side of the aisle and try to park where it's convenient for all.

And apparently I'm the only fucking person on the planet that does this shit. They, the shopping undead, wander around with blank and glazed looks in their hollow eyes. I'm looking at them and they don't even see me coming. I bet they smell my brains though. I stop for their quarter-full carts that are easily maneuvered. Some leave their carts haphazardly in the middle of the aisle, while they walk around staring from this to that. I'm quite sure they have no real idea what they are even looking for.

I go in with a mission and a plan. I have a pre-printed checklist in my hand. Sometimes with copious notes written on it as well. Notes to price this or pick up that extra item. The warehouse store zombies? Have no clue. It's always like they just woke up there, smelling of must and mold, amazed at how high the shelves rise up. While I'm schlumping around 5000 rolls of toilet paper and giant boxes of tampons.

With this, I've decided that if I'm ever to be put into a hell like situation, I'm pretty damn sure that it will be this very one. I will be left to wander for all eternity, in a giant store, with giant boxes of crap, surrounded by a bunch of undead, assholes with absolutely no regard for the poor blonde chick pushing around mountains of shit for unappreciative co-workers.

And I imagine there is probably some guy out there, possibly with a license plate reading WNDHORS, who is pretty sure that his hell will be driving in Wednesday morning traffic, next to a dazed, Diet Coke drinkin poo-finger checking out her roots in the rear view mirror.

To each his own. I do what I can people.