[ WP ] The dead begin to rise as zombies , but have no interest in human flesh or brains , preferring normal human food sources .

I typically work the night shift at Meijer's grocery, so some interesting stuff happens from time to time. A drunk will stumble in, fill a cart with booze, and throw a fit when his card gets declined, a couple of college kids trying to get frisky in a less densely populated isle, one guy came in at three in the morning, looked like something had died in him, and got only a tin of pudding mix. Who knows what was going on with him. 
 
 So on one slow night, I was going through the grocery area, restocking some shelves, when I hear a bit of commotion from the front of the store. It's Wanda, the store greeter, shouting at someone, `` Sir, you ca n't do that! You need to pay!'' Wanda's a sweet old woman, would n't raise hurt a fly, so hearing her raise her voice was very unusual. I figure I'd have to go see what the commotion was about. She's over by the produce section, shouting at some guy in a dirty suit who's just going to fucking town on the apples. Wanda tells me that he's been there for at least a few minutes, more than enough time to do significant damage since he's eating anything he can get his hands on. 
 
 I told Wanda to get ready to call the police if something goes wrong, and go to grab the guy's shoulder. `` Hey, pal, you ca n't be doing that here, c'mon.'' I pull him back, and get a good look at his face. I will never forget that face. His eyes were an inhuman shade of white, his cheeks were sunken, and his lips were shriveled back, revealing a terrifying, toothy grin, dripping with apple juice. He groaned at me and pushed me to the ground before turning back to his carnage, now making an advance on the lemon display. I was petrified. This smelly guy looked like he had been dead for *who fucking knows how long? * And yet here he was, in this goddamn grocery store. I do n't get paid enough for this shit. I steeled my resolve and got up off the ground. 
 
 `` Hey! Asshole! It's time to go!'' I say as I try to snatch one of the lemons out of his hand. In hindsight, that was probably a bad move, because all it did was piss him off. Imagine getting a bit of lemon juice in a paper cut. Now substitute the paper cut with a bite on your hand, with free mingling blood and lemon juice all over the linoleum floor. That was when Wanda finally called the police. 
 
 By the time the cops and an ambulance had shown up, our friend had already chewed through most of the produce section, and was now eating his fifth pineapple. His gut was noticeably distended from all the fruit. As I was being hauled away, I heard a scream and, sweet baby Jesus, some damn gunshots. Apparently one of the cops tried exactly what I did. 
 
 So now I'm here at the hospital. I think the lemon juice did something to the bite, because it's not really healing like it should. It's pretty damn gross, actually. This is probably going to cost me a fortune in medical bills. Not to mention the food here is atrociously non filling. I mean, I've had so much damn food, and I still feel like I'm starving to death. I had to steal my roommate's food just to try and keep myself alive. Son of a bitch tried to get angry at me, too. Showed him who's boss, though, damn near bit his finger off. I think I'm going to go find the kitchens, maybe I can get something that's at least a bit satiating down there.
