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Grocery Zombies 1: Post Party Dude

prty dude Grocery Zombies 1: Post Party DudeEveryone’s done it.  At least once.  Probably more.

The night grows late, you get bored, you know you may regret it in the morning—but you can’t help yourself.

I’m talking, of course, about the midnight grocery run.

Depending on what you’re up to, you may want to be there really badly.  Possibly suffering from a post party food emergency where your stomach has transformed into a merciless food monster that ranks somewhere between a trash compactor and Kirstie Alley’s esophagus.

Or it may be the last place you want to be on Earth, such as a 3:00a.m. baby formula run.

But one thing is certain—you will meet a particular type of person.  You may even be one of them yourself.  Over the coming weeks, we here at Bradmouth will chronicle exactly who these strange, yet beautiful creatures are.

Grocery Zombie 1:  POST PARTY DUDE OR DUDE-ETTE (PDD)

They are loud.  They will be laughing.  And most likely, they are under the influence of some drink or narcotic.   They are by far one of the happiest grocery zombies.  You will be able to tell this immediately.

Because, if you’re very sneaky and peek around the corner of the aisle’s end without knocking over one of those annoying aisle cappers, you will inevitably spot them snickering at one of the following:

  1. Nutritional information for peanut butter or other sweetened toast spread.
  2. Warning labels on beer packaging.
  3. Any item located in the hygiene and personal care section.
  4. Bananas, cucumbers, and mature squash.
  5. Live lobsters.

But the most exact way to identify a PPD is by what is in their basket—because they will absolutely believe that they can fit all their needs into a small crate and be in no need of a buggy—and how they deal with checkout.

First, the carry along crate will not be enough.  You will see the crate spilling over like a wine glass at a Catholic wedding reception.  Powdered doughnuts, YooHoo, and 2 liters of various soft drinks (just no Pepsi) will be popping out the top of the cart.

The other side of their body will have ice cream, Doritos, and some random cleaning item, probably a toilet plunger, pinned precariously between their armpit and the front of their chest.

You will feel  pity and wish to help them.

Do not.

The moment you reach the PPD something will burst, tear, or altogether explode and you will be soaked in syrup or crushed Cheetos.  And they will not offer to cover the dry cleaning. It’s really best for everyone if you just stay away.

Secondly, analyze how they approach the checkout situation.  If they go for a human checkout line, you can safely follow in behind because it shows they are sobering up and reason is beginning to flood back into the infected.

They will still slur their words and knock packs of gum onto your side of the divider, but otherwise they are harmless.

Unfortunately the most drunken, high, and all-round fried off their rocker PPD’s will attempt the impossible—the self checkout line.

By no means should you attempt to follow them.

One, they will not be able to work the card reader and could ultimately ask you to pay for their groceries.  It would be like having Jack Black in front of you.  Not Kung Fu Panda Jack, Tropic Thunder Jack.   Expect to lose cash or receive bodily fluids.

Secondly, you know how picky those stations are.  You use your own bags—see attendant.  You swipe something too fast—see attendant.  You swear at the sweet robot lady inside the self-scanner—see attendant.

This is barely a navigable process when you’re completely alert.  Doing it otherwise would be like hitting a turkey in the head with a brick and asking it to compose a symphony.

So just remember, Post Party Dude or Dudette is there for your amusement.  But stay at a safe minimum distance of fifty feet.

Otherwise you could end up with a new and unwanted pal.

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