50 Shades of Gray Matter

This has been a week full of good and bad news.  The bad news is:  car wrecks suck, and they keep at it, even eight weeks later.  Who knew one Suburban could makes things so difficult?  So while I've dealt with more little tidbits of that unsolicited adventure, I haven't really felt like doing much of anything else, except being miserable.

The good news is:  I have officially been fitted for survival of the Zombie Apocalypse (proved the ZA comes with, or is perhaps caused by, some form of chemical warfare).

Respirators, now offering snazzy, fashionable colors for all your  toxic waste needs!

To be allowed to wear this fun monstrosity, I had to actually be fitted to make sure it sealed around my face, which just made me think of Face Huggers and how I really picked the wrong career for myself.  (Note the look of shock in my eyes as I realized I couldn't breathe.)

So, I filled out this long questionnaire and went back to the room for the fitting.  But, as it turns out, I was told I would have to wait for a doctor because I decided to be honest and check yes for "Asthma."  The doctor came back to ask why I had checked yes.  Well, um, because, asthma.

Doctor:  What are you going to be using this respirator for?
Me:  Well, as far as I know, just for dumping chemical waste.
Doctor:  Do you use other forms of masks or respirators for the rest of your work, like these over here?
Me:  No, just this one, and it won't be for every day.
Doctor:  Will you be using this respirator for anything else you can think of?
Me:  Maybe the Zombie Apocalypse.
Doctor:  Zombies?
Me:  I like to be prepared.  I think it's a good idea to have a Z-Day plan in place, because it could totally happen.
Doctor:  Zombies like reanimated dead people zombies?
Me:  Well, yeah.  I mean, I'm not gung-ho about it like some people.  I don't have a concrete bunker full of elephant guns.  That would be crazy.  I'm just saying I have a secret cabinet full of toilet paper, the ability to distill my own alcohol and perhaps synthesize ibuprofen, and I like to know where all my exits are.
Doctor:  Right. I'll have to think about this. Do you have any tactical plans for what to do once the zombies are here?
Me:  I'm part of an ark.  I'm pretty essential because of my aforementioned skills, but I think unfortunately it's going to come down to a game of Hide the Gwyn more than Fight the Zombies.
Doctor:  Why do you think that?
Me:  ....I thought it would be obvious.  Zombies are after brains.
Doctor:  Okay then, time to take a listen to those lungs.  I don't let anybody out of this room without listening to their lungs and looking in their ears.

I guess he has to get paid for something.