I was on a school campus. Lovely place, green squares, well-maintained, with sidewalks bisecting the space between beautiful red-brick buildings.
Lot of people were milling around. We were all in uniforms, a forest green with small blue piping around the neck and where it buttoned down. I had three jobs. One, I was cleaning. Two, I was checking on people. Three, I was finishing song lyrics and jingles for them.
All was going fine. Then an exercise break was called. And the instructor (who reminded me of Lou Gossett, Jr.) said, “Come on, all you divas come up here.”
Being called a diva annoyed me. I’d never acted like a diva. To prove that point, I decided to act like a diva. Apparently, acting like a diva includes not wearing any pants.
People pointed it out. “You’re missing your pants.”
“I know. I’m a diva.”
Others pressed me, you’re not wearing pants because you’re a diva? “Yes, divas are different. I’m a diva, so I’m being different.” I had a long shirt on but no pants and underwear.
Light exercises were done. I did some of them, but, “I’m a diva,” so I didn’t fully participate, instead interrupting proceedings, exasperating the instructor. He and I then began playing a ball game. Sometimes it was a football, being tossed and kicked; other times, we hit or threw baseballs. Although people of my age (I was in my twenties), males and females, and several ethnicities and races, it was only the instructor and I playing.
Then one of his hit balls landed onto the roof of a tall building behind me and bounced over onto the other side. I’d been warning him that it was going to happen; now it had. As I made ready to go around and get it, he ordered everyone, “Let’s all go to the other side.”
His decision threw me off. I didn’t understand why we all needed to go. I was just going to get the ball. But he announced, “We’ll exercise on this side.”
This side was the street side. Other students, organized in groups, were running toward us (they were running groups). Suddenly, I was embarrassed by my lack of pants and underwear, and tried pulling my shirt down to cover myself. And, suddenly (as it happens in dreams), my shirt was shorter, coming just halfway down my butt. Damn it, I didn’t want all these other people gawking at me. As I tried covering up by stretching my shirt down and squatting, the dream ended.
In the end, it’s pretty classic as dreams go, innit?