now you know what goes on in my head
So I was in Publix the other day when I noticed this latino guy staring at me. I would have mistaken it for a gaze of hunger, but it's Publix. It's impossible not to get hungry while in Publix, I told myself. The first three possibilities ran through my head:
1. He's totally checking me out!
2. Zombies!
3. No, wait, he's just probably confused by the sight of a 12 year old little boy in a long white skirt.
However, I quickly brushed those three ideas aside as the possibility of me knowing him from high school slowly came upon me like the gentle touch of a cadaver's fingers closing around my throat. With a knot forming in my stomach born from equal parts morbid curiosity and terror, I casually glanced behind me as I walked past to get a better look. It was rather unnerving when I realized that he had done the same, and even more unsettling when he smiled at me. Yellow rotting teeth shone in the sickly flourescent light that relfected off the dirty tiled floors.
Damnit, I hate social situations. Is that Sal? I frowned slightly at his smile and quite suddenly, those Zombie fingers weren't so gentle anymore. Why don't I have normal facial recognition like everyone else?
However, I turned around the aisle, and he didn't follow me.
The entire time, I tried to think of who it could possibly be. He seemed to be too good-looking to be Sal, but I could never be sure. By some coincidence, we happened to check out at the same time, albeit in separate lines. I broke out into a cold sweat as I attempted to mentally fend off the Zombie that was now after blood. Carefully, I studied the back of his head, but no glimmer of holy recognition appeared to fight off my undead enemy. My cashier handed me my receipt with a skeletal grin, and I slowly began the walk to the door. Heart pounding, I realized that I had no choice but to walk past my mystery man. This left me with two options:
1. Walk past the gauntlet as quickly as possible and let the zombie eat my brains.
2. Grab a chainsaw and tear that zombie to shreds.
Clutching the cross around my neck, I prayed to St. Sean, patron saint of People fighting Zombies. A sudden strength surged down from the heavens and filled my body with liquid light. My quaking knees now held my body firmly upright, and fearlessly I grabbed my Holy Chainsaw. Without hesitation, I valiantly strode over to the latino male.
"Hey, do I know you from somewhere?"
"Oh, no dahling, I couldn't help but admire those lovely highlights in your hair. See I'm a hairdresser-- I'm sorry if I gave out the wrong impression but those are soooo well done I just couldn't help but stare," he said, patting me on the shoulder affectionately. He smiled again, his perfectly white teeth contrasting against his tan skin.
My Holy Chainsaw eroded, along with my strength and resolve. Once St. Sean realized it was a false alarm, he withdrew quickly.
A few smiles and politely uttered lines later, I escaped physically unscathed, but mentally, I am not sure I will ever be the same again.