The Lavish Hotel Dream

I found myself at an expensive luxury hotel in my dream last night. My wife was with me at this place. Polished gold covered many surfaces, and if it wasn’t gold, it was sparkling glass, shiny marble, or deep, dark wood. Located in the middle of a very busy metropolitan city, the tall skyscraper was hugely busy and full.

I don’t know why I was there, but my wife and I made a complaint about something going on. No idea what that complaint was, but shortly after making it, the hotel staff were suddenly hugely obsequious and apologetic to me. Then they said, “We didn’t realize it was you.” Laughing, I joked, “I didn’t realize it was me, either.”

Just like that, they were treating me like I was royalty. I’d show up and they would tell other customers to make way for me, a cringe thing for me, who prefers not having preferential status or being the center of attention. Almost as wild, the other customers seemed to recognize me and were also differential, which, oddly, made me suspicious. I drifted into questioning why this was happening, sneaking into territory that they were playing a big joke on me or setting me up for something.

Going to a ballroom section, I was accosted by some staff as I entered. I thought they were going to tell me to leave. “Here, try this food,” they said, offering me things on toothpicks. The first turned out to be some kind of special and exotic cherry. Eating it, I was blown out by its juicy sweetness. I told others, “That’s great, you need to taste this.”

The staff said, “Oh, but this is very expensive. It’s free for you but others need to pay for it.”

Pulling a huge wad of cash out of my pocket, I replied, “I’ll pay for it for them.”

“No, no,” the staff answered. “You can’t pay for anything. Put your cash away.”

I responded, “Why can’t I pay for anything?” Meanwhile, the stash of money in my hand shocked me. It was all US currency. I thought, where’d I get all this money? I figured it must be change and it’s probably ones and fives or something. But going through it, I discovered twenties, hundreds, fifties.

Another staffer was beside me. “If you liked the cherry, perhaps you’d like to try the dried apricots.”

“Oh, I love apricots,” I answered. “Yes, I definitely want to try them.” He gave me two and I ate them with gusto, simply staggered by their flavor. “So good,” I told the staff. “Thank you.”

Just then, a manager arrived. “I want to speak to you,” she said. I was like, oh, no, what’s wrong now? She said, “Your stay here is free, so I wanted to tell you that you’ll see a refund on your credit card statement.” She then handed me three shiny pennies. “These are also for you, with our compliments.”

As I took the pennies, I wondered, why are they giving me pennies when I have so much cash, and the dream ended.

A Dream of Money & Fighting

Many of my recent dreams have been about self-doubt, communication problems, and confusion. Last night’s dream added a different twist. A sort of duality emerged right at the beginning.

I was a civilian but arrived at a military complex. Walking in, I assumed my military persona as an experienced senior NCO. I had a huge cache of cash with me, US currency, twenties, fifties, hundreds. I was trying to put them into a leather bag. There was so much, it would fit. I shoved some into pockets but was left with more.

While this transpired, I grew aware of three men watching me. One black, two whites. All taller than me. Bigger. But middle-aged, as I was in dream world.

I suspected they were planning to jump and rob me. I wasn’t going to permit that to happen and placed my keys in my hand with the tips outward between my fingers. One of the men came close. I turned on him as he reached for me, and swung hard at him.

I completely missed.

But he was surprised, taken aback. Dropping back, he stumbled, fell, hit his head, and lost consciousness. One down. Similar things happened with the other two, where I was completely clumsy and ridiculous in my fighting efforts — I am not a fighter in real life or dreams — but still won. With them dispatched, I went to find my room, number 2407.

The complex was like a maze. Signage was almost non-existence. Doors were closed but no locked. I ended up going through quarters for different people, along with operations areas and work rooms for different squadrons. People sometimes challenged me as I walked in on dental and surgical operations, counseling sessions, and newcomer orientations. I kept walking through, trying to find my way, often telling them when they accosted me, “I wouldn’t be here if you guys had signs. This is totally ridiculous.” I vowed as I went that I would write this up to give them feedback about the lack of signs, and the disorganization which I encountered.

When I found my room, it was locked. I had a key, though. It was a calm oasis within. Paused there, I reflected on the dream’s elements while still dreaming, and realized how much it reflected my personal issues, real and imagined. Then I drew out my cash and realized that I was wealthy.

That’s how it ended.

The Paying Dream

What else to call it? I begin in a modern, well-lit grocery store. I’m at the register to pay. The total is $15.87. I have the money to cover it, pay, take my plastic bag of goods, and leave.

I don’t know what I’m buying. Again, I’m there. Paying at the register. The total is twelve something. I debate about using my debit card or paying cash. I pay cash, figuring that I have just enough.

I’m walking into the grocery store to shop. It’s modern, well-lit, and busy. (The store is always modern, well-lit, and busy throughout the dream.) I’m at the register. The total is twelve something. I don’t have cash on me. I decide to pay with my debit card. I do so without a problem.

I’m back in the store again, at the register, paying for my purchase. It’s later in the day but still bright and sunny outside. I decide to use my debit card. I struggle to use the card right. Then I struggle with the PIN. Impatience wells up in the shoppers behind me, rushing out of them as agitated comments. “I don’t understand,” I say. “I just used it this morning and it worked fine.” I finally pay, grab my bag, and go.

I’m driving into a parking space in front of the grocery store. Sunlight flashes off the car’s windshield. It’s a light blue convertible, but I don’t know other details. I enter the store to shop, then I’m in line to pay. The total is fourteen something. I don’t have the cash for it. I debate between using my debit card and my credit card. I use the debit card. It doesn’t work, exasperating me. I go to the credit card. I slide the wrong side through, and then slide the right side, but then realize my card has a chip and the terminal has a chip reader. I pop the card in but can’t remember my PIN for it. I can’t believe I’m having such trouble remembering my PINs.

I’ve not noticed the cashiers before. They’ve never said or done anything as I went through my paying problems. But now, a manager comes over, big, white, middle-aged guy, short-sleeved mustard-yellow shirt, black tie, small mustache. He comes to the terminal and does something to override it and process the card. Then he says, “You know what you need to do?”

“No,” I reply, “what?”

But he’s not talking to me. He’s talking to someone behind me. I turn to see them. The dream ends.

Sunday’s Bumper Sticker

An old, cynical one. Growing up around Pittsburgh, PA, numerous small businesses had this framed on the wall behind the cash register (or beside the register on the counter). I don’t see it much any longer. I blame credit cards.

 

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