friggin’ pigs.

in a bathroom stall. doing what one does. glance down to see a short stack of Playboy issues on the ground in front of my feet. it is not unusual for me to discover people’s stashes in the course of my work, so I am not particularly surprised. suddenly a man in security-guard browns is outside the door. trying to get in, or to get me to come out, as I desperately explain that I’m busy and if he’ll just wait a damn minute I’ll be out in due course. he is not waiting. he claims I’m in the women’s bathroom, which I deny, until I look up through the suddenly transparent (oh, great) walls of my stall to see the stick-figure-in-a-dress on the wall, and an irate woman entering the room. I roll my eyes and try to explain that I’m very sorry for the error, but I’m almost finished and could everyone just please chill for a minute and the situation will resolve itself.

later, I pull into the parking lot of a bank to check my map and make sure I know where I’m headed next. a plainclothes car pulls up and a cop gets out and asks me to get out. I do, and ask what the problem is. he demands my ID, and then I notice there are a couple more guys hovering around, clearly with this guy, but none of them really dressed in cop uniforms. I start to get suspicious, and ask to see his ID, and as we escalate back and forth requests for the other’s identification, more and more guys keep showing up, and I am more and more convinced that they are not actually cops. I make sure my keys are on my belt and start reaching in to lock the doors of my truck.

all of the authority figures in this dream appeared to be middle aged Desi men. (I had to look up what the proper ethnic term was, so I included the link in case any of you were also uncertain).

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~ by oberon the fool on February 20, 2009.

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