On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving.
And the best part? We really didn't even need anything from Costco. We're going out to dinner for Thanksgiving. Sure, I wanted to stock up on one more Christmas wreath (or two), but that did not have to be purchased this week. I wanted to go more to see if I could -- to see if the lines really were as long as everyone said, and if people were grouchy and pushy. If I was strong enough to defend myself and the Bear from an angry mob.
I see this as further evidence that I would never survive a zombie apocalypse.
Because if zombies overran the Earth, "Walking Dead" style, I probably wouldn't believe the other survivors. I think all the zombies are gone...here, let me open the door and check---- ahhh! Help! He's eating my face!
I'd be a danger to everyone in the group.
I can't remember if I've talked about it before on the blog, but Brian and I are kind of obsessed with "The Walking Dead." Yet another amazing show from the good people at AMC, home to "Breaking Bad" and "Mad Men," and another way to spend our Sunday nights. I usually spend the whole show curled up in a ball, chewing on the front of my shirt, whimpering. Brian likes to poke me during the opening credits when the disclaimer comes on: Due to the intense nature of this program, its images may be unsuitable for some viewers.
They should just say, "Kim, please leave the room because you are going to have nightmares for the next six months."
For those of you who haven't seen it, it's about zombies. More specifically, it's about this sheriff guy named Rick. He gets shot in the line of duty, wakes up in a hospital 28 days later, and finds that the world has literally just about ended. Streets are bare, car have been abandoned, dead bodies are piled up everywhere, and human beings that used to be alive are now wandering the streets at a very slow pace, mouths agape, flesh rotting, in search of their next meal. Almost every human being has turned into a zombie. These "walkers" can only be killed by taking out a specific area of their brain; regardless of what else is amputated, cut-off, or hacked, the way to kill a walker is through the mid-brain region.
Poor Rick has a lot to come to terms with, and quickly. Is his wife still alive? What about his son? Where are the other survivors? And if his best buddy survived, who just so happens to be really cute and really single, would his wife sleep be sleeping with the friend, thinking her husband is dead? The whole show is one tense moment after another. There is lots of screen time dedicated to zombies-eating-people's-faces-off, and quite frankly, it's changed the way I look at the world.
Every time I open our big freezer in the garage, I survey the contents and think, "Almost enough to survive a zombie apocalypse. Almost."
Which brings me to Costco.
So this morning, I couldn't help but take note of the giant mass of people moving slowly through the aisles. They lurched between the pastries, slack-jawed and dead-eyed, moving from one baked good to another with no sense of urgency. When we got to the deli aisles, it was as though there was fresh meat present (literally) - people were scratching each other, groaning, pushing, and (I swear) biting each other for the next foil-wrapped ham or cheese tray. By the time I got to dry goods, the movement had slowed considerably, but there was an intensity in the air as the zombies, er, Costco shoppers, lumbered after the next free sample. Scotty and I moved as quickly and quietly as we could, careful to not interrupt the zombies in their environment. By the time we got out to the parking lot, wreaths in tow, we exchanged a high five. We had made it. The walkers didn't get us.
And if Costco is bad, I can only imagine other places. Just last night, Brian and I were discussing where to find these gingerbread-flavored marshmallows. After several minutes of conversation, it both hit at the same time:
I told him I'd rather go into a zombie-invested high school to retrieve medical supplies than go to Wal-mart the week of Thanksgiving.
After all, we all remember what happened to Otis.
Editor's note: surprisingly, AMC does not pay me to review their shows. I just really, really, really like their programming. And I think you would too - check out The Walking Dead on Sunday nights on AMC; check your local listings for times. The mid-season finales airs this Sunday, and then the show will return in the new year with eight new episodes. Don't blame me if you develop an anxiety condition as a result of watching; you've been warned.