As I vaccuumed the dirt and lingering remains of methamphetamine, staph-infested zombie flesh particles out of my truck at one of those 'free vacuum' cheap car wash joints, I had time to reflect on how the bleep I got there in the first place..
The temperature on this particular day was about 105*, cool by Phoenix' scorching summer standards, but hot enough to do some damage if you were unwise enough to be fooling around for too long outside. I found myself driving home from the GiantCom 'dungeon' late on a weekday afternoon.
Ahh, the office dungeon... I go into the office consciously compelled to make an effort to interact with other fellow employees, but every time I end up there, I find myself stuck in the same dark, barren dungeon all day long, holed up anywhere I can find shelter and an ethernet patch in what is basically a mildewy, shadowy old cube farm wasteland. GiantCom, a fake name for the huge megacorp I work for, owns a large data/call center complex in the Phoenix metro area that, for all internal and external appearance and description, was built sturdily enough to survive a nuclear holocaust. Due to GiantCom outsourcing decay over the years, this space is now as creepy as it is empty, like something borrowed from a scene in Stephen King's The Stand.
To put a finer point on it - at any time during a typical day in the GiantCom dungeon, you would probably only be mildly surprised to have Gollum from The Hobbit show up at your desk and ask you for his precious.
One look around this ghost town of a building and it is not hard to imagine zombies wandering the dark recesses and empty hallways. This building would definitely make a great set for AMC's The Walking Dead.
While training the sights of my 'air shotgun' on a lone zombie who was inexplicably careless enough to wander into my dungeon area 'kill zone' during one of my conference calls, I begrudgingly realize that the slouching, staggering, foot-shuffling zombie is not imaginary, but a fellow GiantCom walker (aka zombie / employee), cursed to wander the dungeon's recesses, hallways, and nooks in the near darkness, in madness. This walker trudges along mumbling "coooofffeeeee" and "waaaattterrrrr," two invaluable zombie resources that are not longer provided to employees by GiantCom in order to save a few bucks. I mercifully, yet reluctantly, lower my air shotgun.
Drifting back to the day in question, I left the office late in the afternoon and started for home.
A few miles away from the office, I saw a curious humanoid figure trudging down the street, carrying what appeared to be a kid's toy bucket and a large purse. The humanoid was female, with dirty-blond hair pulled back into a pony-tail, and she was wearing a yellowish tank top and some white shorts that didn't seem to fit her as well as they should.
I reckoned I was probably delirious after just spending 8 hours in the dank GiantCom dungeon for what I was about to do, but it was so hot outside at the time I thought I should stop and see if I could give her a lift.
I flipped a quick u-turn and pulled into a little apartment complex about 50 yards in front of the woman, who, without breaking stride, meandered up to the door of my truck, opened it, and climbed in as if she planned on catching a ride with me whether I planned on it or not.
After I got a closer look at her, I could not help but feel terrible for this woman. She had scars over her arms and face, and a large fresh scab on her arm.
Once she started talking, I realized I had accidentally just picked up a dreaded Disturbed Tweeker Zombie (DTZ). Ruh, roh..
"Thaannnnkkkkssssss," she mumbled.
OK, stop, reader --- you can dutifully call me out for some BS here - she didn't really speak in a low, monotone, drawn-out zombie voice like that - but in order to fit the theme of this blog, she, um, now, magically (poof) *did.*
I somewhat hesitantly ask the DTZ (YES, I am a jerk for not knowing her name - and YES, I am now a bigger jerk for making light of her disturbed, tweeking zombie-ness),
Me: "Hi there, it sure is hot outside! You should be careful. Where are you headed?"
DTZ: "Tooooo.... the liiight raaiilllll.."
Me: "OK, no problem. That is only a couple of miles - wait, you were planning walking a couple of miles in this heat??"
I then notice some of the contents in her large, rope-handled, toy bucket - some weathered stuffed animals. I wanted to see what else was in the bucket, but I really wasn't sure I wanted to get too close to this DTZ yet.
I begin to wonder whether these could be trophies from this particular zombie's previous victims, so I train my right elbow towards the DTZ and assume an 'Hacksaw Jim Duggan' attack stance while holding onto the steering wheel with my left hand. I'm taking this defensive posture in case I need to drop a patented Hacksaw right-armed shiver across this undead creature's skull should she skulk too far over the imaginary line I had drawn across my truck's center console. "Be Prepared," my old Boy Scout instincts buzzed.
Gratefully, this DTZ started jibbering and jabbering mindlessly (as friendlier, more harmless zombies tend to do), so I relaxed a bit. This zombie might be crazy, but she appeared to be pretty harmless. This story sure would have been a lot more exciting if she had really preferred to try and eat my brains or something. I guess 'harmless' will have to do, for now.
The DTZ mumbled on about whatever zombies enjoy rambling on incoherently about while I drove the two miles or so to the light rail stop.
When reached the light rail, the DTZ did not appear to be very keen on leaving my truck. It might have something to do with the fact that the temperature in my truck was 74*, while outside it was a hundred-and-kill, but I would have assumed most zombies preferred extreme heat, as long as it was non-incendiary. That might explain why the zombie was hiking miles on such a hot day like it was no big deal. Warmer temperatures might provide relief from zombie arthritis and give zombie joints and zombie sinew more flexibility.
"Probably why there are so many zombies in Arizona," I calculated, quite satisfied with the fact I may have almost had an original thought.
The dialogue between the zombie and I went something like this:
Me: "OK, we've reached our destination. Have a good one and take care of yourself out there!"
The zombie paused for a few seconds, and then spoke.
DTZ: "I.... I.... neeeeeeed five roooosssseess."
Wait, whaaaat? Roses? Zombies.... need roses???
DTZ: "I... neeeeeed roses for my booooooyyy."
Ahhh, 'roses.' I finally got it - 'roses' were a name for insane zombie currency. This disturbed tweeker zombie just wants some cash. I suppose a zombie may have a difficult time sneaking onto the light rail inconspicuously.
Me: "Um, all I have are three roses."
I lied. Why? I have no idea. I felt a little guilty. Pull a fast one on a zombie for fun? No, that would be lame. More likely, my dino brain did not want to give her anything, but my guilty human brain spat out a random number somewhere in between five and zero that would make me feel better about myself.
Thus, an unplanned and unofficiated battle of wits began. Zombie, vs Me. This would indubitably be an easy blowout win for Team: Living.
DTZ: ".............."
Me: "Here, you go. Have a good one and take ca...."
Zombie cut me off.
DTZ: "I neeeeeddd FIIIIVVVEE ROSESSSSSES!!!"
Ack. I'm losing this battle of wits with the zombie already. One move into the match, and the scoreboard already reads, Zombie 1, Me 0.
Me: "Sorry, there, I don't have more I can give you. Good luck and take ca..."
Zombie notices a pack of Trader Joe's gum on my seat, and cuts me off, again.
DTZ: "oooOHHH! GUUUUMMMM!! CAANS I HAAAAVVE??"
Me: "Sure! You can have a piece."
Zombie picks up the small box of gum and slides out an entire tray of gum, and puts it in her bucket.
DTZ: "CAN I HAAAAVEEE??"
Me: "Sure, you can have a piece- oh, um .. ahhh, well oh, ok, go ahead then."
Zombie 2, me 0.
Then, in what would become the emotional coup de grace of my week, the zombie picks up and stares longingly at the cardboard package of Trader Joe's gum, which has an artist's rendering of a pair of smiley chompers on the cover.
DTZ: (speechless) "oooooohhhhhhh. oooooohh. CAN I HAAAAVVEE ITT?????"
The zombie stares, as if in a trance, at the cardboard box of gum that already has one of its two trays of chicle missing. However, zombie lady is really more enthralled with the box than the gum now.
The moment was a strange and beautiful cutout of the human condition. I know she was probably clinically insane, and I know she was tweeking (no way to tell which came first, the tweeking or the crazy), but it was extremely touching to me how awestruck she was, almost spiritually so, by this simple box of gum. Not the gum anymore, but the box!
I tried to imagine what kind of treasure it would take for me to feel the same way she did about this gum box, right here, right now.. It would have to be something pretty flipping spectacular, or at least sentimentally powerful. I was really being moved by this crazy zombie now (and a little jealous of her experience) and I shed, and then hid, a tiny little tear in front of her.
What a boob I am. Zombie 3, me 0.
DTZ: "ITSSS.. ITSSSS A COLLEEEECCCTOR'S ITEEEEMMM!!!!!!!!!! CAN I HAAAAVE IT???"
Me: "Yes, and thank you. Please, take it."
The zombie then placed her new relic inside the bucket of what I now realize are probably her collection of the most precious artifacts she has in this life. The gum sits nicely on top of what appears to be a Tigger-like tiger stuffed animal.
Zombie 4, me 0.
The zombie sat there quietly for a bit, and we shared a priceless moment or two. Perhaps both of us were just in awe at what we had just experienced - for completely different reasons.
Then, the DTZ suddenly starts scratching the fresh scab on her arm.
This causes me to yelp, while my eyes widen with concern.
Me: "ACK hey there, stop, please don't do that!!!!"
The zombie thankfully listens, and stops scratching at her scab.
DTZ: (mumbling) ".... (mumble).. yeah.. (mumble).. staaaappphhh.. (mumble).. "
CRIKEY, did she really say something like "staaappphhh" or was it just my imagination getting the better of me??
Me: "Um bye there now, time to go please...!"
The zombie stumbled out of my truck and shuffled off to the back of the light rail ticket line, with three roses, a bucket of stuffed animals, and a precious, 'collector's item' box of Trader Joe's gum in tow..
....AFTER giving my truck its first, and hopefully last, staph infection of course.
As I vaccuumed up the last of the rotting zombie flesh from my truck, my regenerating ego was more than happy to admit defeat.
Zombie wins, 5-0.
Love your writing style brother. Every zombie needs a friend!
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