Patient Zero

Sometimes when I get to the coffee shop, I can’t get a table with an outlet. That pisses me off, because I usually camp here much longer than my laptop battery can handle unaided. I’m not that territorial, but when you’re just sitting there, not drinking, eating, or reading… I believe the expression is “shit or get off the pot.”

This dude… he was at “my” table, staring listlessly out the window. I thought maybe he was reflecting on something he just read, because he had a (closed) book on the table. Nope. Then I thought he was waiting for his companion to come out of the bathroom. Nope. He was just… there, usurping my spot. His empty Coke bottle was a testament to the fact that his time had come and gone, and I was this close to just asking him if I could take his spot.

Also, they didn’t have a pot of house blend ready just yet, but they said they’d bring it out to me. So there I am, sitting at a table with no outlet and no coffee, just waiting for both. After a long enough wait, my coffee was free, which is totally sweet. I got my free coffee at the same time that what’s-his-nuts finally relinquished the table. I could finally settle down and do my thing.

Weird. Who just sits there, staring out the window, almost motionless? I think that guy was a freakin’ zombie. He smelled weird, too. Come to think of it, I saw him bite someone on his way out. Yeah. I’m certain of it now. He was Patient Zero, the first zombie, the undead Prometheus. Watch out for him—he’s a big guy in a yellow T-shirt and brown shorts. I’m going to Schnuck’s to stock up on canned goods and bottled water.

Just to be safe, the next time someone’s sitting at my table, I should whack him over the head with a baseball bat. In case they’re zombies, too. You know. Can’t be too careful.