The cute Subway girl gave me a hard time for getting a sandwich without meat today. If only she knew why.
I can't tell her, of course, that my workplace is being overrun by zombies. It would be easier if these blasted Zs would leave the office, but once they completely turn, they can't seem to pull themselves away from their computers and the precious spreadsheets they plink away at all day. If they left, if they interacted with the outside world, people would know that something is going on. In fact, all of us could turn and no one would even know. Family and friends might get concerned, and an investigation might be launched, but as soon as investigators showed up they, themselves, would be turned. Eventually they too would settle in at a computer and start mindlessly plinking away.
Joey stayed late last night. I turned the lights out as I left and he, Bob, and Steve just sat there at their computers. The sickness is clearly already starting to take hold in him. A few more days and he'll never leave the office again.
It was Todd who was feeling particularly courageous today. Or particularly stupid, as the case may be.
"Psst. Hey. I'm going to go swipe Bob's phone. See if anyone's looking for him," he'd said.
Bob groaned as Todd approached, agitated by the sudden movements.
"Steady there, Bob. Take it easy," said Todd, as he reached into Bob's jacket pocket, the jacket hanging on the back of Bob's chair.
"Shit. Let go." Bob's fingers were wrapped tightly around Todd's wrist, saliva dripping from his lips as he went in for a bite.
Todd grabbed Bob's Nalgene and started bashing Bob in the face with it. Bob snarled, but let go, and when Todd put a few feet between them and Bob returned to his spreadsheet, mindless as ever.
"Jesus Christ, that fucker has grip on him," said Todd as he returned to his desk.
"What the hell happened over there?" I asked.
"That zude tried to bite me."
"No shit. I could see that. But he let go."
"Well, to be fair, I was smacking him in the face with a water bottle."
"Yeah, but he let go. That means they can feel."
"Not necessarily," said Todd. "I mean, not like we do. It would be in the virus's best interest to keep its host as functioning as possible. If it knows that its host is being damaged, it would do well to give up its chase."
"I suppose so."
His argument sounded too Cartesian to me. Just because it's easier to think of them as unfeeling, we say that they are like machines and any reaction they produce is by design. Personally, I think Descartes was a jackass. But if I reject that my Z'd up coworkers are mindless automatons, then I may unintentionally force a moral obligation upon myself.
"Yo, check this out."
"Bob, this is Samantha. I keep calling and you don't pick up. Don't think I don't know what's going on here. You're cheating on me. I know it. And I've had enough. We're through. And you can just go to hell. Fuck you."
"Just like women, right?" said Todd. "You disappear for a few days, and they won't even entertain the theory that you've become a zombie. They just automatically assume you're cheating.
Poor Samantha. And poor us. If we do all get Z'd up, they may not come looking for us after all.
I can't tell her, of course, that my workplace is being overrun by zombies. It would be easier if these blasted Zs would leave the office, but once they completely turn, they can't seem to pull themselves away from their computers and the precious spreadsheets they plink away at all day. If they left, if they interacted with the outside world, people would know that something is going on. In fact, all of us could turn and no one would even know. Family and friends might get concerned, and an investigation might be launched, but as soon as investigators showed up they, themselves, would be turned. Eventually they too would settle in at a computer and start mindlessly plinking away.
Joey stayed late last night. I turned the lights out as I left and he, Bob, and Steve just sat there at their computers. The sickness is clearly already starting to take hold in him. A few more days and he'll never leave the office again.
It was Todd who was feeling particularly courageous today. Or particularly stupid, as the case may be.
"Psst. Hey. I'm going to go swipe Bob's phone. See if anyone's looking for him," he'd said.
Bob groaned as Todd approached, agitated by the sudden movements.
"Steady there, Bob. Take it easy," said Todd, as he reached into Bob's jacket pocket, the jacket hanging on the back of Bob's chair.
"Shit. Let go." Bob's fingers were wrapped tightly around Todd's wrist, saliva dripping from his lips as he went in for a bite.
Todd grabbed Bob's Nalgene and started bashing Bob in the face with it. Bob snarled, but let go, and when Todd put a few feet between them and Bob returned to his spreadsheet, mindless as ever.
"Jesus Christ, that fucker has grip on him," said Todd as he returned to his desk.
"What the hell happened over there?" I asked.
"That zude tried to bite me."
"No shit. I could see that. But he let go."
"Well, to be fair, I was smacking him in the face with a water bottle."
"Yeah, but he let go. That means they can feel."
"Not necessarily," said Todd. "I mean, not like we do. It would be in the virus's best interest to keep its host as functioning as possible. If it knows that its host is being damaged, it would do well to give up its chase."
"I suppose so."
His argument sounded too Cartesian to me. Just because it's easier to think of them as unfeeling, we say that they are like machines and any reaction they produce is by design. Personally, I think Descartes was a jackass. But if I reject that my Z'd up coworkers are mindless automatons, then I may unintentionally force a moral obligation upon myself.
"Yo, check this out."
"Bob, this is Samantha. I keep calling and you don't pick up. Don't think I don't know what's going on here. You're cheating on me. I know it. And I've had enough. We're through. And you can just go to hell. Fuck you."
"Just like women, right?" said Todd. "You disappear for a few days, and they won't even entertain the theory that you've become a zombie. They just automatically assume you're cheating.
Poor Samantha. And poor us. If we do all get Z'd up, they may not come looking for us after all.
Subscribe for updates and follow my attempt at survival in a zombified workplace. To be true, if there wasn't a whole anonymous internet to talk to about my zombie issues, I'd probably have taken the bite already. Thanks, internet. I appreciate it.
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