Being a Zombie has its own set of dietary restrictions, but an aversion to Gluten makes my life that bit more difficult. It’s awkward, telling the waiter or waitress at every restaurant I go to. They look at you like you’re just being difficult.
If you’re new to this whole Zombie/Undead thing, I’ll elaborate. Monkey bites Man, Man becomes Zombie. Fair enough. The problem is, you are what you eat, or in my case, I am what I was. My inability to digest Wheat. That meant, no beer – downer. So, these days, I’m on a strict Brains-Only diet. Sounds easy enough; find a victim, bite and swallow. The issue is, how do you know if your meal is Wheat-Free?
So, there I am, most days, explaining the intricacies of a Gluten-Free diet to a lethargic and thoroughly uninterested waitress and fully expecting that whatever comes back from the kitchen to have a high percentage of spittle.
It’s worse when I’m on a date -yes, Zombies date. It’s not that hard, just a case of finding a match who’s not quite so far-gone. I can see the embarrassment in their eyes…if they have eyes of course. Sometimes they makes excuses to visit the bathroom; although, looking like we do, the excuse is usually mute – Zombies carry a make-up kit at all times. Then I wait and wait, until a spiteful waitress tells me my date climbed out the window or simply and far more likely; given our motor skills, left through the back door.
I’d give-up on this whole ‘Gluten’ thing if it weren’t for the after effects. Zombies puke, it’s a fact of life. We gorge ourselves on brains and flesh and blood and then, well, we burp and throw back what’s no good for us – basically everything but the grey matter.
When the apocalypse came, everything changed. Those that remained formed groups and governments. Naturally, the Vampires rule, but they’re more magnanimous than you might think at first. A fair deal for all. Share the wealth – Humans. They drink, we eat, fair’s fair. Everyone gets an ID card, or in Zombie cases, you get a bracelet or necklace or anklet…whatever fits you best. It has your name, if you are functionary enough to remember it, blood type (it matters, believe it or not), general description (of course for us, that’s subject to daily change) and any allergies you might have. At first people would laugh and ask if it was a spelling error – “Gluten? Not Glutton? Ha ha”.
So here I am now, in search of a restaurant that won’t ridicule me.
The city was always dark, but it’s kind of depressing too. The hungrier I get, the more moody I become. So right now, the apocalypse seems wholly less appealing than it did at first glance, especially when you see your friends and the occasional family member chowing-down with wild abandon and you’re left to watch and consider the effects that gluten heavy brain would have on your intestines.
Well, there’s only one thing for it – Yelp it is! Thankfully technology survived The End. A flaky, bloody finger here and there and voila! Welcome to the world of Zombie-Gastro-delights.
“There are three restaurants within five miles of your current location that fill your requirements”.