REM report

WARNING: very boring dream. the reader is forewarned that from this point through the end of this post this particular dream is very very very very extremely nauseatingly unrelentingly thoroughly completely utterly boring.

i was working with my friend Mike Childress in a large shop. some third person had fabricated a tripod for a video camera rather badly, and Mike was pointing out the flaws to me. i didn't think the flaws were all that big a deal; certainly they weren't very difficult to fix, but i agreed with him that the tripod wasn't built correctly. it was as if someone had done most of the work and stopped short of the finish line. eventually i took it upon myself to fix it. i sanded down two errant prongs and was preparing to do some more work (welding i think) when Mike came over and noticed what i was doing. he commented on seeing me working late and sort of stepped in and lent me a hand. when i'd finished, we both got ready to leave.

at this point the "shop" environment i'd been working in seemed to blur lines between types of businesses- it had elements of retail and the restaurant field also. the main boss on the premises was a brunette woman who might have been my son's soccer coach....whoever she was, she was giving instructions to her second-in-command (asst. mgr?) who was a 30-ish woman with dishwater blonde hair. i remember this second woman getting ready to leave the premises herself, raising her voice to project through the large room and asking everyone to please fold everything "like so". it was at this point that i realized there were racks of clothing everywhere (hence the above reference to a retail environment). we exchanged some small talk as the woman left.

there was a dark colored end table/shelving unit type thing on display and the tag on it caught my eye. for some reason i read the copy on the tag from where i stood, and it was something about how it was good to come home from a day's work and be able to have something to show off to the neighbors. i wasn't impressed. the merchandise (the shelving thing) was cheaply built, and not very inexpensive at $30. it had a removable smaller stand that was for mixing drinks or something. i looked up and saw another stand, this one a full-sized unit that would enhabit most of a wall in most living rooms. this one seemed almost to be apologizing for calling the potential buyer an alcoholic, while promising to make a grand impression on their guests. i turned away again, this time toward a table which seemed to be.....more like a booth in a diner.

it was at this point i realized there was a small menu on the table. opening it, i saw that it was a "rush" from the manufacturer of the larger wall-unit bar. in pretentiously upscale language it promised to be an invaluable aid in the user's self-instruction of mixology, but seemed to be missing all the details. there was also a very large expanded version of the same "menu" at the booth, and i picked it up and opened it too- it was also missing all the details.

at this point i was thinking that bartenders make excellent money, but they have to work on Saturday nights....

i noticed one of those paper things you put under a glass in a bar on the table, and i picked it up. the head manager woman (the one who may have my son's soccer coach) had written something in pen on it to the effect of "let Metro bring the money"....i also specifically remember it reading, "it'll never happen....." very strange.

regardless Mike was leaving and we both seemed to be ready to rush out the door. so i made the rounds making sure the place was locked. Mike beat me out the door so in the end it was my responsibility to finish locking up. i passed through what now appeared to be a shopping mall. the lights were dim and the janitorial people were doing their nightly thing. at the end of the hall, by a smoked-glass wall that housed the exterior doors, near an end table, i noticed a small brown plastic garbage can with a new clear liner. i also noticed the drawer of the end table was slightly open. as i rushed past, i tried to close it with my foot- not quite successfully. i didn't stop however, it wasn't that big a deal and wasn't my responsibility anyway. i exited the hallway through the smoked-glass door, and walked the short distance to the adjacent exterior wall, and the door to the shop this narrative started with.

attempting to close this door was a problem. i seemed to have a bunch of stuff in my hands, and there were a couple sheets of plywood which seemed to compound the problem, keeping the sliding door from reaching all the way over to latch correctly. it required a key to throw the latch in this door. and the latch was comically large....easily a foot long. eventually i stuffed my watch (which i'd been holding) in my pocket, cleared my hands of the other things i was holding (can't remember what they were), moved the plywood out of the way, and still seemed unable to manage to close the door.

somehow my watch (which must have doubled as a cell phone) managed to call the police. realizing they were on their way, and being somewhat embarrassed at my inability to close the door, i went to my toolbox in the shop and dropped all my stuff there and returned to the door to try some more.

eventually they did show up, and the manager of the place too, but it was a problem with the door (which i realized after messing with it for a while) and there was nothing anyone could do- the door was simply broken.

and mercifully, that's the end of this boring account of this boring dream, dreamed this past evening by this boring blogger.