Pray you’re in the grocery store’s parking lot when they arrive.
Hope that you can see them coming and escape. It will be after midnight when they descend upon you—the whole ravenous, drooling lot of them.
They have hunger. They possess great thirst. They desire every sugar based cereal that includes a cartoon character front-man and the enticing promise of sweet, delectable, crunchy marshmallows.
And they will swarm you without hesitation.
I’m speaking of course, of Grocery Zombie 2: Garbage Pail Family.
Their roster, with little variation, goes something like this:
1. Dad—unemployed and highly vocal so that he overcomes his feelings of inadequacy. He takes great pleasure in snarling and screaming at the kids, though they pay him no attention. Kind of like a midget drill sergeant.
2. Mom—scratchy, unfiltered Marlboro voice and skin that’s too yellow to be a tan. The kids dance circles around her like she’s a bonfire and they’re all marooned on an island. She pushes a stroller one handed like it’s a stick for the blind and has another fresh member of her brood thrown over shoulder. Smoke rings from her cigarette gather above the baby’s head like a demonic halo.
3. Five kids ranging from 3 to thirteen. The oldest already looks like she’s stolen something and they haven’t even past the Redbox yet.
They disembark from their 1996 Chevy Astor like rabid warthogs escaping the back of a farm truck. If you have the great misfortune of moving towards the front door—GET OUT OF THEIR WAY. They will stampede over you.
The dad will snicker. The mom will push the stroller over your face as she puts out her cigarette on your back.
They’ve turned rudeness into an art form and the grocery store is their favorite canvas. It’s the reason they come to the store so late. So that they can have their run of the place like it’s their own personal white trash kingdom. Think Disney World if it were run by Billy Bob Thornton.
There is no way to defeat them. You must avoid them.
How?
Simple. Just use your ears. The Garbage Pail family zombies are loud. Louder even than the shrieks of Justin Bieber when I eventually force him back to the Canadian wild. These people are used to shouting from one trailer to the next to communicate with their sister-wives and uncle-dads.
And the children are walking megaphones. Bad to the bone and more than willing to vocalize it.
They’re the Children of Corn, only if they had rabies and had been eating Butterfinger bites nonstop for three days.
These little half-pints are misbehaved like Tiger Woods is “flirty,” Mel Gibson is “grumpy,” and Willy Wonka is “molesty.”
That is to say they are the nuclear version of whatever derogatory adjective you can muster.
But again—dodge the noise, dodge the threat.
Final warning.
Should you find yourself at the register and, God forbid, they setup their rolling meth lab right behind you, keep your eyes on the grocery separator. I guarantee you they will try the whole accidentally place a candy bar, pack of gum, and 30 pack of baby formula on your side and then feign apologetic ignorance after it’s rang up maneuver.
DO NOT succumb to the large, pitiful, bloodshot eyes of their children. They are zombies too. Make them pay for their own items.
Or next time you see these Garbage Pail Zombies, it might be outside your window.
(In case you missed it, be sure to check out Grocery Zombies 1: POST PARTY DUDE OR DUDE-ETTE (PDD).
And shout out to Lela Balthrop for winning our Facebook contest, “Justin Beiber is…” contest.
Now I’m thinking you’ve been shopping in our local Co-op just before closing time! You’ve nailed the description. These guys are all there, filling their trolleys with marked-off items (as long as they’ve got bleached white flower, hydrogenated vegetable oil, and at least three kinds of sugar listed in the ingredients).
Fortunately, they leave the produce and wholegrain discount items for me.
Yes. they’re not exactly interested in salads and wheat bread. And forget vegetable oil, they just want lard.
Hee! The smoke ring demonic halo! Poor things. I cringe when I see parents smoking right in their children’s faces!
And yes, I’ve spotted these zombies here and there next to the Cheetohs.
They do love those tasty Cheetos. But not Baked.
Oh my God…I am *related* to these people!!! Except, in my case, the mom is too self-absorbed to even notice she has children. And, too self-absorbed to notice if you accidentally get in her way. She’ll walk right over you, sticking her four-inch heels into your eyes, and then maybe grumble something about complaining to management about the bumpy floors.
They are truely scary, and definitely don’t be sucked in by the children. If you show any kind of sympathy, or any attention at all, really, they will take a chunk out of your face. Fortunately, as Brad points out, they are LOUD. And therefore easy to avoid. I’ve even managed to avoid them at family reunions simply because I can hear them coming a full fifteen minutes before they arrive. By that time, everyone has had a chance to lock up the valuables and set out a special table laden with food as bait. Works every time.
You are a veteran of the Zombie Wars. You get a red badge for the blood you’ve spilled when the children nipped at your retreating ankles.
I’ll wear it with pride.