As God is my witness, I never realized that zombies could drive.
I mean, it makes sense. Zombification strips out the upper brain functions, leaving only automatic responses - shuffling, biting, chewing, clawing, digging the gooey parts of the brain out with a forefinger, that sort of thing. And for a lot of people, driving is pretty much automatic, without a lot of attention from the higher brain.
Don't believe me? Tell me about your commute, yesterday, before the restless dead rose up to slay the living. Tell me about one other vehicle you saw on the road. Unless you've seen something out of the ordinary, it has just passed by you without a second thought. Yah see, automatic functions.
So when the world slipped into its present undead state, it really should not have surprised me that hundreds of zombie commuters rose up, lurched to their cars, and drove to work. At the same time I had to make my own commute. Just my luck.
And I know you're asking - with the living dead heralding the end of the world as we know it, why am I going to work? Because my company doesn't have a Zombie Day plan. Sure, I could stay home, but then it's a sick day, which is also a vacation day. I swear that this one business practice was more responsible than anything for the Zombiepocalypse. You get up, and you're feeling a little undead, not so undead that you want to spend one of your precious vacation days on it, so you go to work and before you know it, the front desk staff has killed everyone in accounting and is feasting on their entrails.
Anyway, you know those "slow zombies"? The Night-of-the-Living-Dead shamblers? Well, they drive just as slowly. No lie. So the 405 is a literal crawl. I pass one talking on his cell phone. Who does a zombie talk to on his cell? His broker?
Pulling out into the HOV lane was just as bad. And yes, it is breaking the law since I was alone, but the only cops I saw were lunching on an SUV filled with nuns, so the social order was a bit tattered at this point. No slow zombies here, but only those passive/aggressive fast zombies. One of whom decided by the Frye's exit to suddenly let go of the wheel and consume her car-pool buddy's eyes. So that tied up the HOV, and I'm back in the slow lanes with the shuffling corpses in their Detroit coffins.
The upshot was that by the Newcastle exit I gave up and turned around, with stop and go traffic through Renton. And since EVERYONE is moving like a zombie in their cars, there was no real prob with the undead looking for fresh meat. Got home, patched in remotely to the job, and am taking a vacation day (there will be a stiffly-worded memo coming out of THIS, I can tell you). The Internets are still up (insert IT/Zombie joke here), and the Lovely Bride is out getting something for dinner. So it is not like it is horrible.
But I tell you, if this keeps up, I'm going to consider going freelance again.
More later,
UPDATE: The Lovely Bride just got home:
Me: Hey honey, what's for dinner?
LB: Braaaaaainssssss!
So it looks like its another evening of experimental cuisine. End of a perfect day.
More later,
