Ain't no party like a holiday party

There is nothing quite as painful as going to a holiday party full of fifty to a hundred lawyers dressed in aptly stiff suits. I saw them and talked with them and they responded to and in turn asked questions. So they seemed like they were human. They breathed. They ate. And I assume they had pulses. But beyond their trite quips, pseudointellectual banter, and plastered smiles, I wondered, was there anything more? Were they really human?

To further my investigation, I consumed three glasses of Cabernet which had the pleasant side-effect of numbing my pain and forced myself to talk to these seemingly human things.

It was amazing. These "people," they were completely hollow. Empty walking things that appeared to be humans, but were in fact not. Is this what thirty years of practicing law did to a person? Suck their souls and leave only a collection of self-important anecdotes in the husk of their former selves?

In one of the more interesting five-second conversations, one of the seemingly human things shook my hand and asked, "What may I ask is your name?"

"Yellow Gal," I replied, forcing a smile.

"Ah, Yellow Gal," it replied, "What a remarkable name!"

"Uh, thanks," I replied, thinking it was quite unremarkable. I looked around the room and realized the gray-haired thing probably never encountered a Yellow attorney before and thought any name resembling Yellowness was akin to "Lotus Blossom" or "Mandarin Orange."

After five or six-hundred of these short conversations, I realized my initial conclusions were correct. But I became even more curious. How did they do it? Were they really this vapid, through-and-through? Were they at one point, real humans who became the undead? Or were these real humans posing as the undead posing as humans to blend in with the undead?

Soon, the mind-numbing effect of the party coupled with the numbing wine gave way to a headache. I was feeling pain -- this meant I was alive. This meant I was at least human.

At least for now.