The Promotion Dream

Twenty to thirty of us, all familiar to me in the dream, were in a very large cabin. I was in charge of this group. I’d been selected for promotion, but I didn’t know when it would happen. Frankly, I was disappointed that it was taking so long.

A bigwig came through and told me that he’d gone through my file, and I was promoted effective immediately, that the promotion should have been right away, and it would be backdated to support that, and I would receive back pay, too.

Well, that all sounded sweet. I told all my friends and co-workers, even opening a window to tell passers-by. Some were happy for me but a few disagreed. One said, “I don’t think you deserve promotion at all.” Others argued with him, defending me. I shrugged them off, thinking, it’s always that way, with disagreements emerging about who to deserves what.

Meanwhile, everyone brought wolves with them for protection. We left our cabin and met more people arriving. One man brought four wolves along and controlled them with voice commands. And elderly woman had a young wolf; I controlled the wolf for her. No wolves fought but the wolves were interested in one another, and everyone remained vigilant to keep the wolves apart.

The 192 Dream

A military dream, again, but with a twist.

I told my wife that the Air Force wants me to return to active duty again. She laughed. “Let’s do it. We can travel.”

I replied, “That’ll be enlistment number 191 for me.” We laughed at that.

(Real life note: I spent just over twenty years on active duty in the military, with one break in service. I’ve not gone back in since my retirement almost a quarter of a century ago.)

So I went in. I’m in a fresh uniform, sharp as hell, feelin’ good and lookin’ good, you know? We’re walking around a large multi-function building – personnel and finance offices, admin offices, mess hall and open mess, exchange and commissary, along with a food court, barbershop, eyeglass place, medical facilities, and fitness center. People are coming up and introducing themselves. We’re enjoying ourselves.

My spouse goes off with other spouses to do something. I keep wandering around on my own. I get a call. They’re offering me a promotion, if I’ll enlist one more time.

I run into my wife. She’s heard the news and encourages me to do it. I answer, “That’ll be number 192 for me.” That makes us both laugh.

That’s the dream.

The Factory Dream

I was working in a factory. I don’t know what was produced there.

Management was coming through to evaluate people, change positions, fire and promote, as they saw fit. Part of that, they were first going through a specific section that was designated personal work space. They would judge it and give us recommendations about our chances and where improvement was needed. Sort of feedback.

The personal section were about the size of a letter slot. Each had eight brass nuts on it.  Space at the corners and across the middle, the nuts were to be there and tight. They were on walls from floor to ceiling, with a continuous varnished blonde wood bench in front of it.

My personal section was faded green, scratched, and worn. It looked like it’d been there since the factory’s beginnings. On the wall opposite were personal sections that looked black and newer. They almost appeared unused.

People packed the factory. Excitement boomed about this pending activity, but I was unmotivated and distant about the whole thing. Then, we came returned to our personal sections. Most people had red tags and were disappointed that they’d not been selected.

I had a note. It read, “Your nuts are loose and your box is dirty. Fix these and you have great promise.”

The feedback amused me but my co-workers and friends were impressed. Reflecting, I didn’t know what it meant in the dream. Others took time to explain that out of all these boxes, maybe one in a thousand had a note. That gave me a chance that most didn’t have, if I took care of the things that were noted.

A manager came by. He told me the same thing and then asked me what experience I had. I told him about my previous involvement with databases, CRM, and RM systems, and my analysis work. Giving me a thumbs up, he said, “You have strong potential, good luck.” Then he left.

Now motivated, I cleaned my worn green box and started tightening my nuts. One was loose and immediately fell off. I searched the floor for it but couldn’t find my nut. That dismayed me. Not having a nut meant a demotion, I’d learned. I didn’t want that and wanted a possible promotion now.

I went searching for a friendly co-worker to get his advice. “He’s been traded,” I was told.

“Traded? To another company?”

“Yep.”

“They can do that?”

“They can and do.”

That amazed me. I wasn’t certain about being traded but I definitely wanted advancement. I needed a nut.

Looking at the black boxes behind me, I decided to steal a nut from down by the floor. I’d used it, get the feedback, and then put it back when I was done. It wasn’t stealing, but borrowing.

I started executing my plan. A young woman in black clothing saw me. “You’re stealing someone’s nut,” she said, pointing. Denying it, I hastened away with the nut in my hand. As I did, she said, “I’m reporting you.” Turning away and hurrying off, she called out to another.

I stepped off. Looking back, I saw her talking to a man and pointing at me. Swearing, embarrassed, and humiliated, I took off into the factory.

I went out onto the floor where huge equipment was located. I’d never been out to the floor before. What I saw awed me. A friend who worked in that section came by and asked me what I was doing. I explained my predicament. He said, “You’d better go back and put that nut back. You don’t want to be caught with another person’s nut.”

I knew he was right. I headed back with intentions of covertly replacing it. Of course, I wanted to avoid that woman and the man she’d been talking to. Not seeing her, I put the nut back where I’d taken it.

Of course, I still needed a nut. Now the future seemed bleak. Looking down the line, I saw the inspectors coming.

My friend from the manufacturing floor came up. With deft moves, he put my nut on and tightened it. “Now you’re covered,” he said, and rushed off.

The dream ended.

 

Yet Another, Yes, Military Dream

This one was a bit different. In the military again, with a friend, and our wives, and others, in a hotel. He’d once worked for me, but eventually passed me in promotions while I chose to retire. Now, here he was a CMSgt, E9, which is the senior enlisted rank and pay grade in the Air Force, urging me to come with him to party and do things.

A special guest was due, the highest enlisted position in the Air Force, a position and rank called the Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force. There is only one at a time. My buddy was eager for me to meet him and have drinks with him.

I went along at first, but then decided, no. I’m done. Not interested. I’m passing.

He came by in his mess dress with medals and ribbons, and black tie to collect me. I was in jeans and a tee shirt. He said, “You’re not ready.” His face fell when I told him that I wasn’t going. He tried cajoling me to change my mind. I held firm.

“That’s not me,” I said.

He shook his head and said, “Man, I’ve so disappointed in you.”

I told him, “You’ll get over it.”

Then he went on, and I turned away to do other things.

The dream ended.

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