I had a weird dream last night, kids. In the past, I’ve told you about particularly odd dreams that I’ve had, so I figure that since I am actually able to remember some of the specifics of this one, I’ll fill you in. Maybe there’s an amateur, Daniel-style wiseman out there who can explain to me what the crap it means… or maybe I’ve just had Hot Head too many times this week.
Anyway. What follows is not exactly what happened, but my narrative version: in an attempt to make it make sense after the fact, my waking brain inserts little details that make the narrative flow better. As a storyteller, this is vital. Kindly accept it, please, as it is both easier to write and, I think, to read.
First, I’m waking up. As in, as soon as the dream kicks in, I am waking up in the dream. This is an odd sensation. With unrefutable dream logic, I know that I need to make it to that Military Base (hereafter recognizable by the capital letters I’ve utilized, since even in the dream it felt like a place that should have some caps in there) that’s over there. Because, you know, there’s always a Military Base in a general “thataway” direction.
As soon as I make it there on my new motorcycle (callback!), I run into this guy:
That’s actor Barclay Hope. I remember him from the TV series PSI Factor, which ran on TBS after school in my Jr. High/High School years. I’d recently seen him on another TV show, Eureka, which is where I got that picture… and maybe why he was dressed in that General uniform on the Military Base.
General Barclay introduced me to a Private (who never got a name, I guess) that I was supposed to interview for an article. I guess my subconscious hasn’t yet caught on to the fact that I don’t work at the paper anymore…
The fact that I was interviewing him didn’t mean that he was allowed to stop drills (or PT or whatever they’re calling military exercise these days), and because I am (or used to be, whatever)a dedicated kind of reporter, I took part.
This is something that I’ve done several times in the past. I went through a day of drills with the Greenville Fire Department…
…and taken (short) walks with people walking across the country on two different occasions. I like to get involved, and see people in their natural environments. So, no alarm bells rang when I was suddenly doing PT with military dudes, and one of them was chatting at me.
Then we’re in the locker room, and he’s still talking.
Then the showers.
Normally, I’d be worried here; I’d be all about sitting down with my subconscious and having a loooong talk… but that was over really quick and there was no monkey business. Just talking like dudes in the locker room after a work out.
Still. New territory for dreams.
After the post-workout shower, I discover that someone has hidden my clothes. I exit the locker room, clad in nothing but a towel, to discover that the bleachers in the gym (one that is very familiar to the one in my High School, actually) are filled with people, who begin peppering me with questions. As I’m answering, a young woman (a very attractive young woman, let me say) saunters up to me (yes, saunters; I distinctly remember the sauntering) and begins to, strangely, braid the fibers of my towel, which is apparently now made up of shag carpet, in a decidedly flirty way.
Just go with it, man.
I find my clothes, answer the questions I’d been peppered with, finish my interview with Private NoName, and discover that Braid-Girl (who was also, unfortunately, nameless in the dream) needs a ride home.
I’m not allowed to give people rides on my motorcycle yet (I only have a permit), but fortunately my car spontaneously “poofed” next to where I parked my bike.
Also fortunately, Vin Diesel did NOT show up to c*ckblock me.
She sits in the back seat, for some reason, and we have a talk as she gives me directions to where she lives. As we’re talking, I notice that I have no idea where the balls I am. Like, nothing is familiar. I get the distinct impression that I’m in a completely different country. More on this later*.
As our conversation progresses, I ask Braid-Girl a question, something completely innocuous, like “What’s your favorite color?” She gets all quiet, like I’ve somehow offended her with this question. I distinctly remember her next words.
“Sometimes, I just like to BE,” she says. “And right now I’d like to be… ALONE!” and then she opens the door and jumps out the back seat of my moving car.
It’s a pretty definitive end to any conversation.
The problem, though, is that she’s left a bag and my beautifully braided towel in the back seat, so she hops back in to grab them, then jumps out again.
Girls are weird.
*IT IS NOW LATER.
I still have no idea where I am. I drive around for a bit, and my surroundings are a lot like the Bad Part of Town on a dreary day. You know that feeling? The entire place was filled with That Feeling. This went on for a while: me driving around, feeling lost and getting more and more worried.
Somehow, General Barclay pops up and says that I should try and find the American Embassy: they’ll know what to do! He then disappears again. This feels completely natural, and I’m still oblivious to the dreaminess of this dream.
You can trust this face, even when it teleports.
I stop at a hotel to ask about where I can find the American Embassy. The lady behind the counter has massive teeth and a funny accent (South African?), and is immediately saddened by the fact that I want to leave instead of rent a room. She refuses to straight up tell me, either because she doesn’t know or isn’t sure, and recommends that I take a taxi: surely the taxi driver will know.
This makes sense to me. Tooth-lady is fine with me keeping my car parked in the hotel lot, and I hail a cab.
Verne Troyer is my cab driver.
Where to, buddy?
This is turning into a C-list star-studded dream.
Along the way to the Embassy, I start to worry about my motorcycle, which has been left at the Military Base for hours now. I start to wonder if I should have Verne take me there to pick it up, but just then Braid-Girl hops into the taxi. I guess she still needs a ride home.
She commandeers the ride, and we both end up at a supermarket where Barclay Hope is dressed in an apron with a “How Can I Help You” button and proceeds to try and sell me some tires for my car.
WHY ARE YOU HERE, BARCLAY HOPE? WHY ARE YOU EVERYWHERE?
We don’t end up buying any tires, and decided to go see a movie instead. I don’t remember watching the movie, or even what movie it was: I just remember that we had Verne wait for us… with the meter on. I have to pay for this… and I’m liking Braid-Girl less and less.
She finally decides that she’d like to go home, and as I have no choice in this matter, I go with her. She walks up to the front door and knocks (why is she knocking?), and who should answer?
Barclay Hope in a t-shirt and boxers.
And he’s apparently Braid-Girl’s dad.
See? Even Barclay’s freaking out.
Even taking dream-logic into account, I’m starting to get confused. I ask Barclay where the crap I am, and he gets this look on his face. He turns around and says something to the empty room, and a door, leading to what it quite obviously a closet, opens up, and out steps a frazzled blond woman, quite pretty, also t-shirt and boxer clad, who takes Braid-Girl to another room.
Barclay turns to look at me, all business, and pulls, out of no where, a large map out to show me. He points to a small island, below the tip of South America-or-Africa-or-Australia (he never says and the map is ambiguous).
“You’re right here,” he says, and epic music starts playing, like this is the planning scene before the suiting up scene in any action movie. I have every reason to believe that whatever the crap is going on is about to be revealed, and I’m gonna have to kick butt, Liam-Neeson-style, to see it to completion…
But all I can think about is how much it’s going to cost to ship my car and motorcycle home to Greenville from this South Pacific island.
And then I woke up.
This one is odd even for me.
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