No Baklava for the Undead

  Devon has his routines. He thinks a man should have a purpose at all times, even when retired.  Routines give him the kind of purpose his job at the print plant use to provide.

  One of Devon’s routines is to have breakfast at the Absurdity café. So like clockwork, for the last fifteen years, Devon has been a regular at the Absurdity; and that’s not by happenstance, no siree.  He likes the food, the people who work there, and the people who eat there; its family by association, a measure as sure as any rational you would want to apply beyond the bonds of blood or shared DNA.

  Devon likened his daily routines to a personal ballet; an inter-connected-inter-dependent exercise of getting around doing things he had a notion to get done.  He rises at first light every morning; always feeds his cats and fish before putting his coffee on the stove to perk.  After that, he’d go to the toilet, to do his business, as he would call it. Afterwards, he turns on his television to his favorite news channel on his way to get the morning paper.  He enjoys the feeling of company in the constant stream of reports filling an otherwise too-quiet cottage that he and his wife Arlene lived in for over fifty years. As he shuffles to the front porch he makes mental notes on what needs repairing along his route. These steps haven’t deviated since Arlene died ten years ago. By the time he gets back to the kitchen the coffee is ready. He’d pour himself a cup and gingerly sip it as he eased himself into his chair at the Formica dining table. Scanning the headlines he’d mumble comments to himself over any story conflicting with his values, but were pressing the world to make accommodating changes.

   At 7 AM promptly, Devon dresses, and then walks three blocks to the Absurdity café where he’ll have breakfast.  As he pulled on the stainless steel handle of the front door he noticed a posted sign swing in the breeze made by his effort.  He was familiar with the often changing messages throughout the years; most of the time they announced lunch specials; but this time he quickly read the message, then snorted as a smile crept upon his face as he passed into the single room establishment. He thought to himself, there’s going to be a story to be told for sure. That was one of the reasons he liked the place so much; there was always something going on at Absurdity, and certainly there was a lot to be said about today’s hastily scribbled message dangling from the café’s door:  No Baklava for the Undead 

   Now it was true the Midtown Absurdity Cafe had a new message on the sign attached to its glass front door entrance. It was also true that it often announced changes to daily situations; from specials to job advertisements, whenever their alcoholic cook would go off on a binge and leave Earl to fend for the café on his own; whenever that happened, Earl believing he was getting too old for that sort of nonsense, would post a sign advertising a job vacancy; until Nelson came back groveling for his job back. The dance was a common as the unchanging décor of the establishment; and that was just the It of it; Earl would be known to wryly say.  Most of the regulars who frequented the Absurdity knew before entering what the topic of the season would be; that’s what made them regulars.  They also knew of all the new addition to its menu. It wasn’t rocket science; it was ordinary.

   Devon entered the café rendering, and being greeted, by Earl who was working inside the kitchen, but could be seen though the serving window.  Earl’s wife Estelle stood taking an order at the table nearest the cash register; then there were the usual patrons minding their own business quietly eating at the Absurdity. He returned all the welcoming with his own predictable good wishes, making his way to the front counter. He was swiftly attended by Estelle carrying a pot of coffee and laying out his silverware, while plopping down his unasked for cup of coffee; they engaged in their friendly and familiar banter.

  “So what gives with the Baklava?” Devon asked, thumbing towards the front door.  Earl sauntered out from the kitchen wiping his hands on his already soiled apron, interjected himself into the conversation with the answer.

  “That Damn Government subsidized feeding of the undead…”

Devon nodded his understanding saying,

   “I read about it in yesterday's paper. Along with the other sweeping Zombie reforms…”

   “Yeah, well that’s the insult to injury as they say…” Earl barked.

“…those boneheads up in Washington have really screwed up the reimbursement to business owners, seeing how the undead don’t carry cash, an-duh, how businesses were to fill out all those requisite forms to get paid back for our goods.  Seems that’s the so called fix to the law until the Zombie Credit Card system comes on line later in the year… or first of the next. Then, of course, all those blood sucking Zombies will be fitted with a card that merchants can zip through their credit card readers.”

  “How’d we get to this state? I mean really, supporting Zombies?” Devon replied, scratching an itch.

  Earl kept talking without addressing the question,

   “…then suddenly the paperwork burden to the tax payers would be gone and there would be this huge reduction to the deficit.”

  They both laughed, as well as a few chuckles by others nearby to overhear the conversation.

   “Insane, I tell you, this kind of craziness will only encourage more of them, you just watch.” Said Devon.

  Earl leaned onto the counter and closer to Devon, lowering his voice to almost a whisper,

   “But hidden in that 30,000 page Under Recognized Nonliving Act Protocols (RNAP) are the not so well known details of what was and wasn't covered; all of the real crap  So what is hidden is that the government saw fit to say desserts were not considered necessary sustenance for Zombies, so is not included in the feeding reimbursement schedule to restaurants. So the shop owners would be out that discounted amount when they get their reimbursement checks months later.”

  Earl Paused while raised his eyebrows, as he stood back up, pointing at Devon with his thumb,

    “…you and I both know that it’s only the sugar that keeps them acting civilized.”

   “Good God Earl, wait until they go back to their old ways of hunting down people for their brains”

   “I think it was the governments meddling with the fructose corn syrup substitute years back that set all of this mess in motion.”  Muttered Earl.

   “Maybe that’s closer to the truth than most would admit Earl, that’s what I’ve heard anyway” replied Devon

   “Why else would the government come to their defense so quickly Devon? The damn creatures can’t vote…yet anyways.  Maybe that’s their plan with all this Zombie rehabilitation efforts going on?  First wean them from eating brains, to then writing their names.  I swear, watch and they’ll be voting for Zombie rights in no time.  Hell, I heard that there’s a Zombie anti-defamation law up for voting right now where anyone calling them Zombies could be prosecuted for hate crime.  Can you believe that Devon?  Calling a Zombie a zombie is going to be outlawed; it has to be undead person, or nonliving citizen, good gwad!”

  They laughed at the prospects.

  Devon added,

   “It’s just the thrill government gets over excesses in getting into everyone’s life.  This new move at paying for the upkeep of the dead was just another example of a growing burden on the working Joe tax payers. When will it stop Earl?”

  At that very moment they both turned their heads to notice an undead slipping through the doorway into the diner. They stopped talking and watch it shuffle past them, then stopped, leaning against the counter. With raised decrepit arm it slowly pointed towards the dessert display of Baklava behind Earl’s head. It Moaned excessively while gesturing alternately towards the dessert and then its mouth. Earl reacted harshly,

   “That’s it”

  He stood up and began waving off motions at the zombie, startling the creature, making it back away. He continued his shooing noises and waving at the panic stricken zombie, who continued to slowly back up towards the entrance of the café.  Just as he was about to get the zombie out the door, another zombie from the outside sidewalk was attempting to come in, trying to make its way towards the Baklava. Earl made quicker more elaborate waving of his arms yelling louder as he corralled the two Zombies, finally pushing them out the door. It was a rough bum-rush out from the café.  The few patrons eating breakfast stared transfixed by the scene; then as Earl returned back into the diner, brushing off his hands and as if on cue, they applauded loudly.

~***~