How Working at HMV Over the Holidays Prepared Me for the Inevitable Zombie Apocalypse

It was Saturday, December 22nd, 2012 and I had been charged with the task of restocking the campaign DVDs and blu-rays in alphabetical order. We had all been given strict instructions to work efficiently and fast. Today was anticipated to be the worst day yet. Everything up until this point was a cake walk.

The gates weren’t scheduled to open until 10:00am but even as early as 9:23 I could see the throng of milling, listless bodies shuffle about just beyond the gates.

“Are you guys open yet?”

Shit. Must stock faster, I told myself. I had been at this for an hour, repairing the damages incurred yesterday and I was only on “Daddy Day Care”. I worked distractedly, one eye never leaving the hoard at the gates. I was already sweating.

At 9:56, I looked up from my work. It was almost time; none of my peers were ready. I sure as hell wasn’t  The throng beyond the gates had grown to about 150 and the gate would be opening in three minutes. I will never forget the way they just slithered back and forth behind the Plexiglas, never once breaking eye contact.

There was no time left to prepare. We had to make our stand here and now or die. It was as simple as that. Continue reading




There’s a kid living on our street who I call Spoons. There’s nothing strange about the way he looks. In every aspect, he looks just like a regular kid. He’s that 10 or 11 year old boy we’ve all met that never managed to fully lose his baby fat. The one with the messy brown hair and the scared round eyes.

We live in what I guess you could call a poor neighborhood. It has all the clarifiers anyway. There’s people living in rooms overtopr people living in rooms down the road, plenty of trash lining the gutters, and plenty of people to encounter awkwardly to remind you of how fortunate you actually are.

Spoons is one of those people. He lives in a suite with his mother and his younger sister. Their place is the top floor of a house right next to mine and their front door is a stone’s throw from my bedroom. In the summer, when being outside is tolerable, there are nights when the mother sits on the stairs and weeps. Or she screams into her cellular phone. When this goes on, I find myself lying awake in my bed and wondering how Spoons is dealing with all of this. Continue reading