A few years ago Mr Smaggle and I had some mates over for dinner. After we’d eaten our fill of delicious curry, ingested an unhealthy amount of wine and no doubt indulged in some sort of baked good, the conversation naturally veered toward the zombie apocalypse and who each of us would like to have on our zombie fighting team, should it ever be necessary to form one in the future. I was the only female there and slowly but surely I was metaphorically crushed under the weight of their giant man penises and it was decided that theoretically, I wasn’t a desirable candidate for their zombie apocalypse team.
I was appalled. Firstly, it was really mean. Secondly, it was really sexist. Thirdly, I’m an extremely useful person and they should have been begging to have me on their zombie apocalypse team. When I mentioned my usefulness to the circle jerk of manhood they were all ‘Yeah, you’re useful. For a woman!’. I do need to point out here that my friends are not sexist in real life. I assure you, I would not be friends with them if they were. The excess testosterone, cheap red wine and completely fictional discussion seemed to make my usually not-particularly-relevant vagina, look like a massive liability for no other reason than its general existence.
Also our conversation was mainly based around zombie movies and TV shows where women are useless bimbos who get killed off in the first attack, useless love interests who only survive because they spend the entirety of the film delicately tucked under the arm of a dirty handsome man or they’re walking wet dreams who wear pleather and sharp shoot zombies with their eyes closed. In defense of my lovely male mates, I don’t fit into any of the above categories so they had a hard time envisioning what I could contribute to the team in a practical sense. I realised I had to sell myself and I had to do it quickly. You really don’t want to be convincing people to let you on their team when half an infected corpse is clawing at your face. You want that deal locked and loaded WELL before you’re pulling a rotting zombie hand out of your mouth. So on that note, here are my most useful and relevant skills, should you ever consider me for your zombie defense group.
I have excellent cardio stamina…
If zombies were fast, I’d be screwed. Thankfully they’re really slow and they’re often missing feet or legs which makes them even slower. Speed without stamina won’t save you when 300 zombies are shuffling along behind you in a 10km long tunnel with no exits. Stamina on its own will. The zombie apocalypse is probably the only time that being able to run 10km really slowly is a braggable trait.
I’m good at fixing things…
I can weave, sew, crochet and knit. I can knot rope so that you can’t ever undo it again. If you leave me with an old tarp and a stick I’ll turn it into a god damn structural masterpiece. I’m also good at fixing things in a hurry. It’s a stage actor thing. If you’ve got 20 seconds, a tiny square of gaffer tape and three bobby pins to fix your dress before you go back onstage, lest the audience cop an eyeful of your pasty boobs, you bloody well find a way to do it. Emergency fix ups are an art I mastered a long time ago. This is probably why I’ve been a bridesmaid so many times.
I can cook meals from scraps…
Give me a couple of assorted cans of stuff – tomatoes, tuna, corn – and I’ll be able to whip it into something palatable for the whole team. It seems like a lame skill when we’ve all just eaten a gourmet meal in our comfortable pre-zombie lounge rooms but if you’ve been living off cans of powdered milk for three months because no one in your team knows what artichokes are, you’ll be begging me to make you my Zombieland Ratatouille.
I can melt metal…
I’m a qualified jeweller which makes me the equivalent of Magneto in the zombie apocalypse. It also means that I know which chemicals are explosive and which ones will melt your skin off. Just remember Google is dead. You need my hazardous chemicals knowledge.
I’m a bit dead inside…
I have absolutely no problems at all with shooting little girl zombies in the head. I won’t even cry when I do it and it’s doubtful I’ll ever think about it again. I’ve always been more practical than emotional. This is a huge advantage to your team because I won’t waste time deciding whether to save a random human or the zombie version of someone I love. They’re a zombie. Bullet. Head. Done. Someone pour me a whisky.
Today’s question is simple. I’m recruiting for my zombie apocalypse team.
