(The keyboard on my tablet has stopped working. I’ve been on the phone with tech support, troubleshooting, for about half an hour. They agree that it’s a mechanical problem and transfer me to that department since it is still under warranty.)

Tech Support: “So, if you can confirm your shipping address, we can send you a new keyboard right away.”

Me: “Uh… I don’t need a new keyboard. It’s a tablet. A laptop.”

Tech Support: “Well, the keyboard is what’s broken, so we’re going to ship you a new keyboard.”

Me: “I’m not sure you understand. It’s a tablet. I need a new unit entirely.”

Tech Support: *long pause* “My system shows that there are no replacement keyboards for your model.”

Me: “…Sounds about right.”

(The zombie apocalypse has started and my office building has been over-run. A coworker and I are in the stairwell near the emergency exit. We want to make a break for it but are deliberating who gets to open the door and check if it’s clear of zombies. I am black, and my coworker is white.)

Me: “Okay, check if it’s clear.”

Coworker: “No way! You check!”

Me: “I can’t check. I have to be extra careful now.”

Coworker: “What do you mean?!”

Me: “Seriously? You don’t know that the black guy always dies first?”

Coworker: “That’s just some stupid cliche!”

Me: “Do you even watch The Walking Dead?”

Coworker: “Of course.”

Me: “We had T-Dog, who surprisingly survived until season three, before he’s killed saving Carol. No worries, as then we’re introduced to Oscar in the prison, but he’s quickly dispatched in the battle with Woodbury. But again, we’re introduced to Tyreese, who I admit is still alive, but mainly because another black man, Bob Stookey, turned up and got himself killed in the meantime, but I think it’s just a matter of time for poor ol’ Tyreese.”

Coworker: “That doesn’t mean that–”

Me: “Z-Nation. The lead black guy is killed in the first episode.”

Coworker: “Yeah, but–”

Me: “Land Of The Dead. The lead villain zombie is a black guy.”

Coworker: “Fine, but–”

Me: “Night Of The Living Dead. Black guy dies.”

Coworker: “Ah hah! Got you there! In Night Of The Living Dead, the black guy isn’t killed by the zombies.”

Me: “Hmm, you’re right.” *eyes narrow* “He’s shot by the white guy…”

(There is an awkward silence.)

Coworker: “I’ll just check this door then, shall I?”

(I work at a hardware store. One evening right before closing, a man comes running in the front door out of breath.)

Me: “Welcome to [Hardware Store]. What can I help you with today?”

Customer: “I was sitting by the library over on main street and I saw some zombies.”

Me: “Zombies, sir?”

Customer: “Undead.”

Me: “Huh?”

Customer: “Shambling corpses!”

Me: “Ah, zombies!”

Customer: “So, I thought to myself, I need some defenses. And everyone knows that improvised weapons are the premiere form of anti-undead utilities.”

Me: “Come again?”

Customer: “I want to buy some tools!”

Me: “Certainly, sir. What would you like?”

Customer: “Well, how about a crowbar?”

Me: “I’m afraid we’re fresh out of crowbars, sir.”

Customer: “Oh, never mind. How about a tire iron?”

Me: “We never have those at the end of the week, sir. We get more on Monday.”

Customer: “No matter. Any baseball bats by chance?”

Me: “You should try the sports shop next door but they’re closed now.”

Customer: “Not my lucky day, is it? How about a hammer?”

Me: “Sorry, sir.”

Customer: “Ball peen hammer?”

Me: “The truck was late today.”

Customer: “Club hammer?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Cross and straight pein hammer?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Cross pein pin hammer?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Sledge hammer?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Soft mallet?”

Me: “Ah! We have soft mallets, sir.”

Customer: “You do? Excellent.”

Me: “Yes, sir. Ah, it is a bit soft…”

Customer: “Well, I’d expect it to be softer than a normal hammer.”

Me: “Well, very soft, sir.”

Customer: “No matter. Bring it out!”

Me: *fetches mallet* “Ah, it appears to be a bean bag, sir.”

Customer: “So it is.”

Me: “Yes, it appears to be.”

Customer: “Well, hacksaws?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Circular saw?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: ”Do you have chainsaws?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “But they’re the most popular anti-zombie weapon around!”

Me: “Sorry, sir.”

Customer: “Have you in fact got any tools at all?”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

Customer: “Really?”

Me: “No. Not really, sir.”

Customer: “You haven’t.”

Me: “Not a single nail. I was deliberately wasting your time, sir.”

Customer: “Well, in that case, I think I might have been bitten on my way over here. I’m afraid I’ll have to bite you.”

Me: “Very well, then.”

(Customer walks around the counter and bites me.)

Customer: “What a senseless contribution to the hoard.”

(I have a coworker who is notoriously lazy around the office. Everything he does is slow and half-hearted. My coworkers and I are in the office the lazy coworker comes back late from lunch as usual.)

Lazy Coworker: “Something weird is going on outside.”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Lazy Coworker: “Lots of weird people just shuffling around outside. And look! One of them bit me!”

(True to his word, the lazy coworker shows off a rather nasty bite mark on his hand.)

Me: “Ouch! Better get that looked at.”

(Suddenly the boss runs out of his office, panicked.)

Boss: “I just saw the news! The zombie apocalypse has started! Everyone save yourselves!”

(Everyone in the office then turns back to the lazy coworker, who is now scratching his bite mark.)

Lazy Coworker: “What?”

Boss: “He was bit? We have to kill him before he turns!”

Me: “Don’t worry; we have time.”

Boss: “What do you mean?”

Me: “He does everything slowly…”

(He finally turned… three weeks later.)

(I go to my local supermarket to return an item.)

Me: “I would like to return these prawns, please.”

Employee: *with a snarky tone* “And why do you feel like you’re warranted a return?”

Me: “They turned my husband into a zombie.”

Employee: *blinks* “Pardon me?”

Me: “My husband ate them last night, and then became unwell. He woke up this morning as a zombie, and I think it was the prawns’ fault.”

Employee: “Everyone knows that to become a zombie you have to be bitten by one. Bad prawns don’t cause zombification.”

Me: “What about the first one?”

Employee: “First what?”

Me: “There has to be a first zombie, a patient zero. I believe my husband is that person.”

Employee: “I’m sorry, be that as it may, I still don’t think that the prawns–”

(Just then, we are interrupted by a sound of broken glass. We turn to see my zombified husband shuffle into the store.)

Me: “Oh, no, he got out of the car.”

Employee: ”You bought your zombie-husband with you?!”

Me: “Yes, as proof.”

Employee: “Proof of what?”

(My zombie-husband shuffles towards the frozen fish section.)

Zombie-Husband: “PRAAAAAAWWWWWNS…”

(Pause.)

Employee: “Let me get you started on that refund…”