Tag: contest

The Car & Contest Dream

I dreamed I had a very fancy sportscar. I knew it was quite unique, exotic, and expensive. It seemed dark in color but I never saw its color or make, and know little about its shape other than some brief glimpses. It appeared low and svelte with organic curves, along the lines of sports racers in the mid-sixties.

My wife and I were traveling in it. Along our way, we paused to submit an entry in a contest. Everyone was participating in it. My wife took care of that entry, going in and providing them some sample of clever engineering that we’d either found or created. Coming back to the car, she told me there was another opportunity to come back to give them an entry at three that afternoon. We agreed we would return and drove on.

We drove to our destination without incident. Then, with sunset chasing us, we headed back the other way. First we stopped to submit another entry. Since my wife did the first one, I volunteered to go in and take care of this one.

Inside this well-lit, austere place, it was chaos. I found a counter where a rotund white man with a thin mustache was supposed to be handling the entries. He looked like he was in over his head. I brought our device to him for registering and entry. The thing, whatever it was, was round, small, and lightweight, easily residing on my open palm. I gave it to him with the paperwork and watched to see what happened, wanting reassurances we were properly vetted. He did some things but seemed to lose focus halfway through. I made it a point to pester him to ensure our entry had been processed. Reassuring me, he showed me a pullback lid from a small metal can, the sort you’d find on a pet food offering. I was horrified and protested, but then decided, the hell with it, I had to go.

I returned to my car but didn’t see my wife. Picking it up, I carried it out of a crowd of people and around a corner, and set it down with a thump. Still looking for my wife and not finding her, I reasoned that she must have gone off and would be back in a moment. But she rapped on the car window from inside the car; she’d been sitting there the entire time and was indignant about the way I’d just picked up the car and carried it because it’d been unsettling for her.

That out of the way, we and five other couples began driving down a curving multilane highway into the gathering dusk. I could hear the people talking in their cars. Many were discussing my car and me. I gently accelerated, easily outdistancing them, though I knew they remained behind me and could still hear them talking.

By now, it was a moonless and starless black night. I reached a point where the road went up a vertical grade. The car handled it with no problem, but at the top was a ceiling. Reaching it, I stopped the car and left it. I was at the juncture between a white ceiling and white wall with a blue and black pattern. There was a crawlspace access. I knew from my journey there that I had to pick up the car and carry it through this crawlspace to the other side. I knew I’d done it before but I was a little more tired this time.

Nevertheless, I scaled the wall and entered the crawlspace. The other cars had arrived and were queued to follow me. Reaching back, I picked up the car with my wife inside it. As I began wedging myself and my vehicle through the narrow space, I thought, this is stupid, and stopped.

There must be a better way, I thought.

Dream end.

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A Chaotic Dream

It began with me as a young man. I came into a situation where the atmosphere buzzed with chaos. We were outside. People were everywhere. It seemed like they were all carrying something and were on the run. I looked for signs about where to go: none. I tried talking to people, but all were rushing around like a children on a playground sugar high.

After some bit of this, I managed to see a door and went through it. In there was the information I sought about my role. I was given a tall stack of thick folders. Most were manila folders, but some were red, green, and blue. I started shuffling through them, flipping through pages, assimilating information.

I was to be given a presentation to prepare so that a decision could be made about something, but there was confusion about who was receiving the information and what outcome was desired. I was smiling as I went through the info. I was familiar with all of it. Within a short time, I’d tossed all the folders except two aside. One was a plain manila folder; the other was red with a red and white cover on it, with large block letters in red: 5774.

The 5774 information wasn’t needed for the moment, I decided. That would be used later. First, clean up the presentation. Make it. Get the decision. Then, after that, do the 5774 stuff.

Okay. With that clarified for myself, I pursued that course. A decision was made.

Around me was instantly calmer and more relaxed. People quit rushing. They smiled at one another and started talking.

Okay, good. I went to a car for a rest. Others were heading to a large celebration. I planned to join them but first needed rest.

Others came by to follow up on the decision. I was groggy with sleep and tried explaining to them that the information they wanted was in the 5774 folder. Just find it, and the messages and information inside that, and they’d be fine.

They went off. A young woman in a green 1950s era Chevy pickup truck picked me up and took me to the celebration. The grounds were rutted with mud, but it was like a huge carnival. After I was given some food, I discovered that I was entered in a competition there. Contestants were taken to a center stage. Questions were put up on a screen for them to answer. They were given ten questions. Whoever was most correct most often won.

I watched the other contestants as they were asked questions and failed and was immediately eager for my turn. I knew I was going to ace this thing because the questions were all from the 5774 folder. I knew it intimately.

My turn finally came. Well, in theory. An equipment malfunction put a halt to the proceedings. The dream ended with me in the green pickup, grinning, eager for my turn, certain that I was going to win.

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The Silver Cars Dream

Again, my dream made me a young man. I was with others, driving in cars on wide, busy boulevards. Sunshine blessed us so we had the roof down on my car, which was turquoise. An entertaining time was being had. It was all about a car show. All these old model cars were there to be judged. We guessed there were hundreds, maybe thousands. Old Porsche variations and European sports cars and GTs dominated, but there were also 1960s and early 1970s American muscle — Mustangs, Camaro Z28s and SS, Firebirds (including Trans-Ams), Cougars, GTOs, Cudas, and Chargers. All the cars were silver except for a few black, white, and turquoise ones, with one other exception. Silver abounded, making us laugh.

We had a list of the cars and were driving around to see them but the cars being judged were also being driven around, creating an entertaining game. Friends had their cars entered, and so did Dad, and old silver Thunderbird. Although I was sometimes driving, I was a passenger at one point, looking at the list of cars. I call it a list, but it was like a small newspaper. The car’s make, model, and year would always be in bold. I was running my thumb along the lists, exclaiming as I noted friends and celebrities’ cars, when I looked up.

Traffic was going in three lines in each direction, very busy. Ahead of us was by several car lengths was the car, I believed, the rarest and most exotic. I said, “That’s it! Catch that car.” The driver (don’t know who it was, never saw them) accelerated. Dad, who was in another car, which was gold, the single gold car in sight, said, “You’re never gonna catch them.” I replied, “Watch us.” Our car shot forward.

But the car we were chasing — was it a Jaguar, Ferrari, Lamborghini? — accelerated more. Pulling away, like they were trying to evade us, they began cutting in and out of traffic. “They’re going to crash,” I said. Dad, from the other car said, “That car is never going to crash. It can’t crash.”

Just then, the car we chased spun and flipped. Wildly, it righted in air and landed neatly. Now facing the wrong way, straddling two lanes, and now black, it sat there as cars went around it. Then it executed a backflip with a twist, landing on its wheels, now silver again, back in the right direction, in one lane, and accelerated away.

So cool, we shouted with laughter in my car. So cool.

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