The Access Dream

This dream progressed like I was watching a television show. I knew it was me — it was a twenty-something edition of me — but it was outside of me. The camera showed me and the others in close-ups, panning, wide-shots, etc.

I was outside, part of a growing gathering. It seemed like a fair or something was opening. My wife and some friends were present, queuing to enter.

A few minutes before the gates were due to open, people came out selling access badges. A short, young woman came up to me and sold me a badge, along with several others. The badge looked like a flimsy beige rectangular band-aid. She was talking to several of us simultaneously, selling us badges and telling us to wear them. I joked, “Wear them where?”

She said, “Anywhere.”

I examined it. It was amazingly flexible, thinner than a standard playing card, and about the same size, but it felt unusual in my hand, like it was vibrating. “What if I stick it on my neck?” I did that as I asked. I laughed after asking and glanced around. Others were putting them their shirt chest or their wrist. I thought that was boring.

The sales person shrugged. “Sure, that’ll work. Anywhere will work. Want to buy another?”

“Why would I want another? Doesn’t this give me access to everything?”

“Yes, but it has a time limit. It expires after a day.”

“I don’t know,” I said, “I think it’ll be enough for me.”

Stepping closer to me, she replied in a low voice, “You should take more. I’m giving them away for free. The time limit is just what we tell people. The more you have, the greater access you have, but they don’t want everyone to have access.”

“But I can have access? Okay,” I said with a surprised smile. “I’ll take more.”

Giving me several more, she said looked around and then said, “Come find me later. I’ll give you more.”

The dream ended.

The Quest

Like many, I awoke this morning and began pondering the eternal questions, like, is my head getting smaller?

I wasn’t being facetious. My new Tilley hat had arrived. When I put it on, I discovered it was much larger than my other hat. I confirmed the other was a seven and a half, so the two hats were the same size.* Ergo, my head must be shrinking.

Walking about with my oversized hat on, I entertained the other questions that often plague modern humans.

1. Am I gaining weight or are my pants shrinking?

2. Are my pants getting longer, or am I getting shorter?

3. Is it possible for me to be both gaining weight and getting shorter?

4. Can my pant legs be getting longer while my pants waist is shrinking?

5. If something really had 1/4 the fat of the regular stuff, can I really eat four times as much?

6. How much beer can a beer drinker drink if a beer drinker only drank beer?

These are serious questions. The one about my shrinking head especially worries me. I can see myself as a man walking around without a head. People would probably soon start head-shaming me, shouting, “Hey, there’s little head,” whenever I pass.

There’s family precedence. My mother, who was much taller than me when I was a child, now seems to be about the size of a garden gnome. She appears to be shrinking more in every dimension every time that I see her. I figure that soon, we’ll be able to hear her, but not see her, unless she stands at the right angle and in the right light. It’s like, “Okay, I see her shadow. Let me just trace that back to her.”

Alas, like others, I found no easy answers to these questions. That’s probably why they plague us.

The quest goes on.

*Editing note: Yes, I know that not all sizes are equal sizes during the modern industrial age. Most people must try on several sets of garments or shoes of the same size before finding one that fits right. Hence, there was one shortcoming to the Tilley replacement hat process: it’s predicated on the idea that all of their hats are the same size.

Floofseeching

Floofseeching (floofinition) – A posture and behavior employed by animals to gain favors or reprieves.

In use: “The home security cameras showed the German shepherd knocking over the kitchen garbage can and strewing the trash around the kitchen, breakfast nook, and dining room, but when Guy went to administer scolding, his dog’s floofseeching (sad eyes, contrite body language, down tail, hiding in the corner behind the sofa) diminished his ire. He couldn’t stay angry at such a sweet face.”

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