An epic dream
Last night, I had a spicy pizza about an hour before bed, an activity I encourage because it leads to truly awesome dreams — in my case, a seemingly hours-long epic with something for the whole family.
It begins on an old country road, which I recognized as Richfield Rd., where my grandparents lived when I was a kid. Driving along, I crossed a rickety old bridge over a river that might also have been a ditch. Something seemed to be “up,” and I would have to return that night to figure out exactly what it was.
Cut to class — business class, that is, where I am stuck doing a group project where we have to design a menu for a luxurious meal. I have a lot of questions about this project, most notably: Why wasn’t there some kind of food service/cooking prerequisite? I have no idea what I’m doing. I skip out on the group meeting that evening to go check things out on Richfield Rd., where my grandma — who for this section of the dream has turned evil — spots me and starts chasing me down. I manage to get across the rickety old bridge — barely.
I narrowly escape and return to class the next morning to find that my classmates have covered for me. Everyone’s meals are heavy on greens and mushrooms; many of the entrees are shaped like Africa. I skip out in the middle of a group presentation and find that my school is actually in the middle of the Burger King factory — meaning the factory where all Burger King products are made. The centerpiece of this factory is a veritable river of boiling oil, an open-air deep-fryer. The scene cuts to two of the workers, with ample Fu Manchu-style mustaches. They are making something out of pigs (i.e., whole, live pigs) and accidentally drop one into the deep-fry river. Seemingly unaware of what is happening to it, the pig gradually disintegrates.
I walk further and find a kind of food court, not serving the standard Burger King fare but rather showing off all the many possibilities inherent in the foodstuffs themselves. I walk up to one of the counters to order and she asks me if I want a rocket sandwich or a reuben. Although I repeatedly say I want the reuben, she still asks several times (note: in real life, I lost my voice on Friday and was on shaky ground most of the weekend). When it comes time to pay, I enter into a new phase of the dream, where it’s not clear whether I’m wearing clothes or not.
Having had enough of the food court, I decide to wait for the train out of the factory, which is like a subway train. When the train comes, I’m not sure how to handle the quantum state of my clothing and keep looking from car to car — what I’m looking for, I don’t know. I get to the front car, not having found whatever it was, and I just have to get on if I want to leave. On the train are my grandparents, and my grandma is not evil at this point; neither seems to notice me. Also on the train is The Girlfriend, who has a blanket. I sit next to her, under the blanket: clothing problem solved for now.
That’s when I woke up.
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