It’s All Fun and Games Until Someone Gets Eaten by a Zombie

When I take the garbage out to the bin, I like to play “Zombie Attack”. The premise of the game is simple: don’t get bitten or eaten by a zombie when taking out the trash.

Besides living in my mind, the game lives in the underground parkade where the garbage room is located. A locked door stands between me and the zombies that lurk in the vast expanse of garage I have to walk through to take out the trash. The price I pay when I let my situational awareness fall by the wayside? Death.

As soon as I pass through the locked door, a series of rapid fire questions is activated in my brain.

  1. What kind of footwear am I wearing? If the answer is flip-flops, I’m screwed. Ever try to run—effectively—wearing flip-flops? I’ve never mastered the art. Inevitably, I always accidentally kick off a flip-flop in the process. I wonder though, could a flip-flop whizzing along at high-speed immobilize a zombie? Yeah. Nevermind. So, I have to be ready to kick them off, if required. (Keep in mind that I don’t literally ditch the flip flops and start running. If I did, I’m sure there would have been a few letters to strata by now about some weird girl throwing shoes in the parkade.)
  2. Is the bag heavy enough to use as a momentary distraction? Could I wing it with enough force at a zombie’s head to gain a few extra seconds to high-tail it away?
  3. Where are my keys? Seriously. Where the fuck are my keys?
  4. Am I maintaining tactical formation? This is important. Cut the pie, people. Cut the pie!
  5. And finally, how close am I to my storage locker and all the axes I have stored in there? Can I make it? OK, seriously. Where the fuck are my keys?