Zombie Will Think for Food

Sometimes (read: twice), David and I will exchange e-mails in which we write a really rambling but somehow awesome story. Today, it was my turn to start. Here’s what I came up with:

For one thing, they were lost—not the cute kind of lost where the air feels electric with a certainty that the turn you’re looking for is just a few blocks away, but the hopeless, bowel-deep sort of lost where the road flattens out into a stretch of senseless gray speckled with mail boxes and the occasional Hess station.

And where would this unparalleled knowledge of being Lost As Hell be springing from, you might ask? Well, yesterday, in the pursuit of an Alltel store, me and my car got wicked lost.

I trust The Internet pretty implicitly. But last night, The Great and Powerful Google done me WRONG. The Google—or Googs, as I like to call it when I’m feeling particularly chummy—told me to get off 77 at Exit 33, not Exit 36. When I finally arrived at the Alltel store, 25 minutes later and one near-sobbing fit in the middle of a turning lane between four lanes of 60 mile-per-hour traffic, imagine how annoyed I was to find that the mythic place I was searching for happened to be right next door to the Number One China Buffet, somewhere (naturally) that I’m MORE THAN FAMILIAR WITH.

The moral of this story, though twofold, is obvious: avoid making terrifying left turns as if your life depended on it and when in doubt, just head to your favorite buffet.