It’s never dull at I-Hop. Waiting tables keeps me running. Their smothered pancakes curl my toes—yum! And the zombies tip well.
When they first rose up, shoving aside their grassy blankets, we ran in terror. Echoes of horror movies, “Brains, brains!” filled our heads with wrong ideas, so at first, we chopped them to pieces. Once we realized that they had no interest in cracking our skulls, we steered clear, watching them shamble from graveyard to graveyard, rotting guests on Sunday visits.
Sometimes, the dead walked neighborhoods, nodding to neighbors and stopping to pet dogs.
They enjoyed their second wind.
Then they spoke. “Brunch, Brunch!”
They filled the waiting areas of every breakfast for lunch restaurant and at first, we worried that their unique smell would discourage our Sunday senior church crowd. And sure, at first, the little old ladies didn’t appreciate their Sunday best stinking of the dead. But in the end, they don’t smell any worse than fancy cheese or wet dogs. On any given Sunday you’ll see the church ladies scoot their chairs to make room for their long-dead friends. The conversation is one-sided, but the bacon and pancakes are loved by all.
The best thing about zombies? They tip big.
Bits of gold from graveyards, maybe it’s jewelry left by those too far gone get out of the grave. Maybe they know where there’s still gold to be found in the ground. The zombies have become a financial godsend for all.
There’s a peace in knowing for sure there’s life after death. They seem happy enough.
The brunch joint owners happily serve them, only there’s one thing they worry about.
Not the smell. Not the other patrons.
They all agree.
Don’t run out of bacon. Because you never know.