Tag: work

The Sandwich Shop Dream

A phone was ringing. It was a late hour, but I thought it was Dad calling. I couldn’t get to the phone. I had my backpack on with my laptop and was heading for work.

I was in an airport, walking with others, none recognized from RL. We were gathered into a white side room to pick up our paychecks. They hadn’t been delivered on time to the regular place, and this was where we’d been sent to get them. We milled through with many others, then realized there were lines. People working with us weren’t in a line, so we formed one. We met with a rep, a tanned white male with a tired face. He was a friend of sorts but also upper management. He told us our paychecks were coming, that there’d been some issue, yada, yada, and the checks would be here later today.

‘Later today’ came. We returned to the room. Far fewer people were present. In fact, it was really only my group. The management friend never showed up. Neither did our checks. Disappointed, we left.

I got in line to have a sandwich made at a Subway shop. I’d been there many times before and the staff and I knew one another. The lines were long and so was the wait. When it was finally my turn, I ordered a sub sandwich only to be told that it was after five o’clock.

I looked at the clock; they were right, it was now a few minutes after five. I protested, because I’d been in line before five, and appealed to their sense of right. I appealed the time, too, arguing that it was just a few minutes after five, what difference could a few minutes make? And, I was a regular.

They would not make me a sandwich but offered me something else for free. I thought I’d get something for my wife, so, mollified, I started ordering. After a few minutes, the guy behind the counter said, “That’s just another sandwich.”

I realized that he was right. I started apologizing and held up a large quantity of paper money. I said, “I can pay for it.”

The counterman took all the sandwich ingredients and wordlessly slid them onto the floor in front of me. He then took all the money from my hand and drop it on top of the food on the floor. I protested again, “I forgot, I didn’t realize.” Then, seeing the futility of that effort, I picked up my money and rushed off into the airport to catch my flight. As I went, I kept telling myself, “I really forgot. I really did.”

Dream end

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An Office Dream

I had a busy, cluttered office/room. Appearing like I was in my twenties, I seemed quite content. In this dream, I was not married. I’m not sure what my work duties and responsibilities were except they involved my computer and going to meetings. I lived on campus but sometimes had to drive to another part for work. None of my co-workers were recognized as RL people.

On this very busy day, I was wearing black jeans and a black shirt. Packing up my laptop, I drove across the campus for a meeting. When I came out, I discovered a friendly co-worker had put a black collar and leash on a young woman. The leash was tied to something. Pretty, with white skin, dark hair, in her early twenties she was dressed in a revealing two-piece outfit with black boots.

I was appalled and spoke with her. How did this happen? Who did this? I told her, I can help get you out. The collar had a key; I had a key that would work for it back in my room. I explained to her, the collar wasn’t a collar but was designed and used for something else. If she went with me, I could unlock her. Conversely, I could go, get the key, come back and unlock her.

We decided to go to my room. We walked and were there in a dream flash. She told me when she got there that she wasn’t going into my room, but she was going to walk around and show everyone what my co-worker did to her. Fair enough. I would get the key and find her.

I entered my room. My desk and stuff were gone. A different desk was in its place, along with a plush, black leather chair. A tall man and woman, both Caucasians, were there, along with a third man. The woman wore white with gold jewelry. The man wore black and had tattoos on his face and short black hair.

I exploded. “Where’s my desk? Where’s my stuff? Who did this?”

At first, the others ignored me. The third man said they didn’t know who had decided anything and didn’t know what had happened to my stuff. The tall man chided me for saying that it was ‘my room and stuff’ because, really, it belonged to the company. I took exception, because the furniture and space belonged to the company, but my personal effects and clothing were gone.

Someone suggested where my stuff was. I went there and found it. I didn’t like the change. Someone said it was a promotion, but I didn’t accept that. It seemed a lot like my original room, but I didn’t like how it’d been changed without telling me first.

Meanwhile, I found the key, went out, and tracked down the young woman. It was a very busy circular place, with many projects going on, and it took me a few minutes to find her. She was walking about, loudly telling all, look what so-and-so did because he thought it was funny. I unlocked her, then mentioned that I’d forgotten my car on the other side of the campus and needed to go get it, if she wanted to walk over there with me. She agreed. An older woman called me over. She asked me if I’d made a contract with the woman with the collar. When I answered no, she told me that I need to make such a contract to explore her emotions and ensure she’s okay after this incident. I agreed to do that.

A bunch of us set out walking, including the previously collared woman. I fell in with the tall man in black and the tall woman in white. Talking with them, I recognized them as minor celebrities. We were going to see a parade; they’d been part of the parade the previous year. They told me they were part of it this year, too, and invited me to join.

Veering off to find my car, I ended up in an auditorium on company business where I met another tall man. Seated in front of me in a plush auditorium, I realized that he’d been with the tall man and woman the previous year. He congratulated me on my powers of observation and keen memory, and then gave me his card. I hurried away because I still hadn’t picked up my car.

Going under cement culverts along street roads, I rejoined the people walking toward the parade route, including the previously collared woman. I broached the subject of the contract with her. She immediately told me she wanted nothing to do with that because she thought them a waste of time. I was relieved because I agreed.

At this point, I was in my underwear, bikini briefs. I didn’t mind because I was slender and muscular. I noticed a number of young, trim, muscular women also dressed only in underwear. I decided that I was going to skip the parade because I still needed to get my car.

The dream ended.

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The Startup Dream

Overall, this was a fun dream. Very colorful, sharp, and energetic. Young, I was with a tech startup company. There were about twenty of us, but we were having success and hiring to expand. None of them were recognized as people from my real life.

The atmosphere was jubilant, almost giddy. Then one male co-worker came in and told the CEO, “I know it’s not appropriate, but that woman you hired has a great ass.” I was mortified that he said that, but also intrigued: I wanted to see this ‘great ass’.

We launched a new product variation. It went well. A marketing campaign was initiated that involved people pretending to trash the office. That didn’t sit well with me, leaving me shaking my head and telling them that I didn’t agree with it, that I didn’t see the purpose, and that I was thought it was wrong and misleading. I watched several hirees going through breaking things as part of the campaign. When they were done, I was given a list of things to fix but discovered they hadn’t broken anything that I was tasked to fix.

A group of us left to go out on the town and celebrate. First there was the matter of changing clothes. I had some new garments and put them on, including shorts and sandals. I was with the others when I put my sandals on. Several people complimented me on me leg muscles. I answered, “Thanks, I walk ten to twelve miles a day.” I took special care about fastening my sandals, as the straps were different and unusual.

Then we left to find a place to eat and go dancing. End dream.

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The Three Cats Dream

I was in a field behind apartments or buildings, not sure which. I looked across and saw a small cat. The cat seemed about six months old. Mostly white, it had a black tail, black spots on its head, and black. It was watching me. I thought it homeless. A stray. So, I moved toward it to help it. See if it was alright. As I did, I saw a second one. Identical markings and pose. It was toward my left. There’s two, I thought, then saw a third further left. They were situated like they sat at first, second, and third base on a ball field. I thought, how odd, and, they seemed healthy. But, I wanted to pet them and ensure they were okay. I didn’t see a mother cat. I also wondered why they were on this field.

While dealing with the cats, which didn’t avoid me but nor did they hurry to me, I ended up by a parking lot. Men with cars were there. One, young, white, with a black beard, began chatting with me. I decided to forestall where the conversation was going. I told him, “I don’t have employment for you. I’m sorry. I feel for you. I appreciate your situation. I don’t know the particulars but I know that you want to work. I know you’re eager to work but you can’t find work. And I’m sorry, but I don’t have any work for you.”

He told me that he appreciated my honesty but wanted to know how I’d made it. I told him I was lucky. Entered the military, stayed with it twenty years, and had some success with a combination of intelligence, work, and luck. I thought most of it was luck. But what did I do after that? Again, I was lucky. Joined startups, was promoted, ended up with IBM, kept on for fifteen years. Some hard work but a a lot of luck. Wasn’t trying to humbrag or nothing; trying to be straight with them. So, my advice, he wanted to know? “Find a toehold. Work hard. Hope to create separation from others but stay kind. Friendly. Positive. And just keep at it. Keep your fingers crossed that you’ll be lucky.”

Then, one of the cats came to me. I picked it up.

Dream end.

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The Sick Dream

I was at work. Tired. Becoming more tired. Then, sleepy. Eyes were falling shut. Body slumping over. Nothing I could do.

A friendly co-worker, male, was trying to take care of me. Help me. But he was helpless. My work shift ended. He tried helping me leave. I couldn’t. Everything was a strain. He was telling me, “Come on, I’ll get you help.” I was replying, “I’m okay, I just want to sleep.”

Became separated from him. Found myself on a cement sidewalk by an asphalt road. An intersection. Naked. Crawling. Barely awake. Cars passing me. One, a black Chevy Suburban, stopped. The driver asked, “Are you alright? Do you need help?”

I kept going. Found clothes. Blue jeans. Pale tee shirt. Boots. Managed to dress. Get on my feet. Walked, swaying and stumbling. Eyes barely open. Brain coddled in thick pudding. Thoughts almost non-existent. Had garbage in a small white bag. Began looking to dispose of it. Saw a booth. Constructed of plywood. Took it there.

Food booth. The man behind the booth counter asked, “What do you want to order?”

I handed him the bag of garbage. He took it. Tossed it away behind him. “What do you want?”

Mute, I shook my head. Moved on. Thinking, sick. Still sick. But getting better. I was walking. On my feet. Swaying less. People began speaking to me. I began comprehending them. Interacting with them. Answering questions. Two young women joined me. They asked me if I need help. No, I was okay. Then, could I help them? They needed information.

Initially, I balked. Wasn’t my area. Didn’t know anything about it. Then I told them I would help. I would find the answers to their questions and get back to them. Trotted from one place to another, seeking answers. Inadvertently stumbled through someone’s garden while attempting a short cut. They’d just set it up. Planted it. Nothing was growing. Backing out, I fixed the damages. Then ran down to the other end of town. Thinking, anyone seeing me would think he runs everywhere.

I was running everywhere through a busy, hilly city. Felt good. The sickness was gone. I stopped running. Looked around to see where I was. Thought, where do I want to go?

Dream end.

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Old Computer Dream

I’m at a work station. One those stands with a big tan CRT monitor on top, tower PC, keyboard on sliding tray. Something from the 1990s. Whole thing is just wide enough for the monitor. I’m one of many at such computer work stations. Large room. Wide and tall. I’m in the last row, on the end. Fourth one in line. This gives me space to my right. It’s open there and behind me.

Everyone is doing through thing. It’s a hubbub of clicking, clacking, talking, laughing. I’m doing my thing, reviewing files for a dead friend. The computer files on the screen on red. They fill the screen. When I print things out, the paper and folders are red. I suppose, when I’m wondering about the red while I’m dreaming, that the red is supposed to be symbolic of something. I don’t get it. Urgency? Warning? Don’t know. I’m also wondering why I’m going through folders about a dead guy. He’d been a friend but he died a while ago. My rational side intrudes: it’s your birthday. You’re sixty-five. Dead guy was a year older than you. Never lived to be sixty-five. Collect the dots.

Aha, dots probably collected. My wife is pestering me for specific information. This annoys me. She flits in to demand I look at something, sure that it’s important. I already looked and moved on while she wasn’t there. But she keeps coming back, asking to see specific files that I already read and closed.

Many others are behind me. Two women and a man are among them. The women are attractive. I gather that they’re foreigners. Maybe British and Scottish. They’re friends. I think one is with the guy. He seems American. He comes and goes. I keep catching snatches of the women’s conversation. They’re speaking of going someplace, doing something. I’m familiar with the areas and offer some unrequested advice, which they shun.

“Keep yourself to yourself,” I tell myself, sorting files on the computer. I’m testy with my wife as she comes and asks for information on a specific date and event. Without responding to her verbally, I search for the appropriate document, drilling down through information. She doesn’t realize what I’m doing and hectors me. I snap back with an explanation. She then goes away.

Meanwhile, the British and Scottish women have become friendlier. As if they sensed they rebuffed me and now want my friendship — or something — they step closer. I’m aware that they’re surreptitiously attempting to see what I’m doing. They make a subtle show of patting me on my shoulder, touching my arm.

It all confused and wearied me. I move off the dead man’s files. Why should I be involved with them? I find myself instead working on the files for another who worked for me. Investigating this person makes no more sense than checking the dead man’s files.

I understand it all when I awaken. The sense of dissatisfaction, frustration. The searching in myself for answers about directions and desires.

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