I Had A Dream

No, this isn’t Martin Luther Kings lesser known “I had a dream but I’ll tell you about it later” speech. Nor is it me starting an Abba themed karaoke night. Nor still is this about one of those dreams of childhood that somehow never quite turn out the way you expect them to.

Click for source

Also, it’s worth mentioning that this isn’t a pipe dream either, although my spam folder and the pop ups on the sites I visit do try to fill my head with them. In fact, as I’ve a rage-on for those pop ups, lets take a brief segue from my dream and have a quick look at the content of them shall we? The following is the small print on an ad that comes up full screen and tells me I’ve won an iPhone.

Hover for my possibly NSFW opinion on this.

Anyway, much as I would love to tell you all about my dream of Apple headquarters slowly smouldering so that the cult of hype they’ve built doesn’t fool people into these sorts of competition scams, or my dream of rounding up everyone involved with these scams and setting up a Battle Royale situation, none of these are the dream I started to tell you all about. No, this dream is something far more interesting, at least to me. This dream involves these two.

dreampeople

That well known couple, seen together so often that my subconscious couldn’t help but pick up on it…

The guy is Bobcat Goldthwait, a stand up comedian best known for his squeaky-voiced role in the Police Academy movies. The woman is the lovely Belinda Carlisle, a singer from the ’80s, pictured here before she started to look like she exclusively ate elderly Nicole Kidmans. Now, I don’t know these two but I kind of did in the dream I had the other night. You see, in my dream Bobcat was a hobo who kept coming into my store and distracting me whenever I was trying to serve customers. Oh, didn’t I mention? I ran a store in my dream.

The store is supposed to be a Spar (a kind of franchised convenience store in the UK) according to my memory of it in the dream and the sign outside, and is located in the same place as the Spar I used to use most as a child, near to my best friends house. Inside is a different matter though. It’s laid out like an American mini-mart (thank you very much standardised television locations) but shining white and with elevator music playing in the background. In real life this is the sort of store that would drive me mad, but it’s mine in the dream and I’m proud of it and look after it the best I can.

minimart

Yeah, kind of like that but with lots of plastic white counters.

I don’t run this shop alone. There are two girls I run it with who are physically the two best friends of an ex whose name I can’t quite place, but whose personalities have mostly been replaced with other acquaintances. They don’t really matter to my dream as they are spending most of the dream on the roof sunbathing while fully clothed. It’s their day off, you see, and apparently my sleeping mind is a little prudish.

So, you’ve got the basic setup for my dream. Now all you need to know is that a customer has come in looking for a copy of a Belinda Carlisle album which remained nameless because I don’t know the names of her albums to call on in my subconscious mind. After a bit of a back and forth with me trying to tell this guy that we don’t sell music and him not accepting it, I tell him we do have one thing that might suit his needs.

That’s when I went to aisle three (again, thank you television in the ’90s for always sending people to aisle three) to find Belinda Carlisle. You see, we don’t sell music but apparently musicians are just sitting on the shelf in my dream store. Unfortunately we appear to be out of Belinda Carlisles at that time, although I know we haven’t sold any. I rushed through the door to the stock room and found myself magically transported up to the roof where the other girls were sunbathing.

Dream doors seem to work that way, I’ve found. You go through a door in one place and it bends physics to lead you out through another door that isn’t connected to the original in any way. It’s always been one of my favourite aspects of dreams and the fact that it makes logical sense while in the dream has always fascinated me. Of course, being in the dream I thought nothing of it, and simply shook the sleeping sunbathers by their thick cardigans to wake them.

Neither of them had sold a Belinda Carlisle so I went back through the door, skipping the stairs again and this time ended up in the stockroom. It was there that I found Bobcat the hobo going through the tubs of beer flavoured ice cream (because what else would a hobo want in such hot cardigan weather?) and filling his pockets. I chased him out of the store and went around the stockroom trying to find out if any Belinda Carlisles had been lost down the back of a shelf.

Finding nothing I returned to the customer and was confronted by another dream phenomenon. The customer was frozen in place, having not moved a muscle since he’d left my sight. Only when I got around the counter to my serving position did he start to move and make noise again. What? Prove to me that people exist outside of my knowledge of them and my mind might start allowing them to do things when I’m not there. Until then, if you’re in here, you’re only allowed a certain amount of free will.

As the customer started to move I could see Bobcat again. He’d shrunk himself, just like hobos tend to do when they’ve been on the beer ice cream, and was sitting on the shoulder of the customer. Now I had to politely deal with the customer while somehow getting the hobo off his shoulder. That’s right, my dream had turned into the sort of 1970s sitcom that would offer Robin Williams a role as the straight man.

I like to think he's singing the intro to Circle of Life

I like to think he’s singing the intro to Circle of Life

After that the memories devolve into chaos. I remember the muzak in the store turning into the Benny Hill theme at some point. I remember chasing Bobcat out of several strange places, all while trying to keep his presence a secret from the customer and find that pesky hidden Belinda Carlisle. And then, just as I saw something shining in a distant corner of the store, just as the speakers of the store started playing a tinny muzak version of Heaven Is A Place On Earth, just as Bobcat was climbing the drainpipe up to the sunbathing cardigan wearers in an effort to make a friend who could supply him with that magical size changing beer flavoured cold dairy product…

I woke up, and I was smiling.

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55 thoughts on “I Had A Dream

    • You say that now, but you have no idea how hard it is to run a store all on your lonesome, while a hobo with a squeaky voice keeps messing things up.

  1. πŸ˜† Confusing like most of my dreams πŸ˜› “Inception” exists!!!

    So, at the end, what was the Belinda Carlisle’s album you’ve found on the shelf? Heaven on Earth? Runaway Horses? Live Your Life Be Free? Real? Greatest Hits? Go-Go’s Reunion? Voila?

    πŸ˜›

  2. πŸ˜† it goes in accordance to the old wive’s tale that meat is too heavy on a stomach before you go to bed.
    Complete nonsense of course since I’ve disproved that myth by eating huge amounts of biltong just before bed.
    The best nights of my life that was.

  3. It beats my reaccuring Tending The Bar At The Edge of The World Dream where I’m tending the bar from Dusk Till Dawn with nothing happening for at least five hours. Nothing happening at all. In that place? So dissapointing.

    • I think I may have worked that bar in reality. A franchise saw my talent for making their places work and got me to work one of their bars off the beaten track. I was a corporate bartender, all flair and hair gel, and they sent me to a proper dominoes and pipe smoke pub. I stood there for three hours until my first customer as I was alone in the place and couldn’t even sort out their backroom stuff as it’d leave the place unattended. They paid me more than four staff there would have had for that set of shifts and I had no effect on the place.

    • you know, that’s something I’d like to read about..the mad adventures of Mik the bardude..

      There’s So many self-help crap out there then why not eh?

      • I actually started writing some of those tales up years ago but a badly designed UI made me lose dozens of posts (let’s place the Delete button right next to Open File with Mark All on the other side and no second chances), mostly fully written but not uploaded yet.

        There were tales of exploding cellar men, the secret mirrors of those with more ego than I even pretend to have, the tale of how I accidentally became a manager, the secret plan a few of us had to rob one place that had started as a joke but became more plausible the more we looked at it to the point we were worried someone would do it the same way, and the time I won my way to police suspicion. Amongst others of course.

      • That’s a massive story which involves a government conspiracy, an Iranian spy, a block of flats being built in Spain and a whole lot of incredibly bad coincidence.

        I’ll write it up at some point, showing you guys how weird my life has been.

    • The mentioned dream actually started while I was tending the bar at a very traditional (what some would call classy) place, you know, the sort of place with dark wooden panels and busts of serious looking gentlemen in wigs that nobody knew. The house used to be an apothecary, and they’d maintained some of the features, especially the shelves in the bar. Anyway, there was not much to do, because all guests would come for lunch, for the traditional Danish lunch specialities, and the place was closed between ywo in the afternoon and eight in the evening. They tried to brand the place as an oldschool inn in the evenings, buit the thing never really happened, so I spend many an evening doing absolutely nothing apart from playing Doom on the business PC which was just as advanced in years as the rest of the interior. Fortunately there was lots of brass to polish and windows to clean.

      • There are still days when I wake with the smell of Brasso in my nostrils.

        I used to work that sort of place, but it had been taken over by a franchise (in this case the Hogshead) and was doing well at weekends and through most days. Our only problem was Mondays evenings being absolutely dead (I’m talking no regulars and so little passing trade that we occasionally put the chef on the bar as well and chucked a buzzer up for him) and the manager came up with a solution. We started running fancy dinner parties for business owners on Monday evenings. Tickets were ridiculously priced, and we’d occasionally rope in a celebrity visiting the town (using the contacts I’d built during my club days). Suddenly we had half the bar roped off for these dinner parties with full silver service and the regular staff waiting on. In the end it wasn’t the most profitable of nights but we ended up pulling in enough to easily justify me and the manager in full silver service mode and with more hair gel than you’ve seen advertised in your entire life between us, our chef going above and beyond on a much more inspired menu than ever served in that place.

        I loved that manager for that idea. He’d never run a bar before and worked his way through university to get into place so expectations weren’t high, but that idea was brilliant. Unfortunately it also got him sacked for doing something outside the scope of the franchise. I quit shortly afterwards as the place had soured for me, but always wanted to run one of those sorts of nights again in that sort of place.

    • At the place mentioned, I told them to just forget about weekday nights and focus on Friday and Saturday nights in stead, and then throw in some live preformances. I was in a band at that time, so I knew how to arrange concerts (when you’re an amateur musician you have to do all that yourself anyway, since you can’t affort a manager). They okayed it, but left it to me.

      They had this guy employed specifically to deal with ‘events’, but he was too preoccupied with dealing with the painters and artists whose pictures we had on our walls. That was his thing, and he couldn’t be bothered with suddenly having to arrange something as common and non-prestigious as musical concerts. He was a bit of a dick.

      So, me and my fellow barman, contracted two bands to come and play, and we got some posters printed, set it up on the website, put a note on the menu card, etc. It turned out alright. Sort of unplugged concerts, you know. It was a ten-tables restaurant, so the experience became intimate, also because the bands we chose were small and semi-acustic (there was not room for the band to occupy half of the space). Also payed off. We did that two winters in a row. We couldn’t do it in the summertime, because we weren’t able to compete with the big music halls and clubs in city.

      When the manager of the place found out I was playing in the band, he wanted us to come, which we did. It was not our usual gig, because we played hard rock, and half of our equipment would take up half of the room, and the sound would have broken the mirrors, but we put together a list of rock ballads and did a small acoustic concert.

      Hm… Reminds me how I miss playing music.

      • Some pubs I was hanging at back in Serbia did that as well, and during winter, it was usually a success. Great time with great music. The lack of space was more a plus for people felt close and more intimate and friendly, complete strangers talking with each other and having fun. Great times.

      • The only live bands I used to handle were for clubs I worked and one I eventually ran. We had an entire floor taken up during the live nights and they were usually packed with different crowds – screaming girls in the case of both Bon Jovi tribute acts, stoners with massive joints in the case of the Bob Marley ones. Only the original acts had a sort of intimate vibe, and that was because they had less fans.

        Still, while they were all tuning up throughout the day, it was me, Janine and Simon as the only people listening to the bands as we set the place up. Occasionally we’d get some people in doing deals for different drink companies, or the management team until they left, and the cleaners. Then there were the times we’d have friends over and people delivering food. It was a different atmosphere to listen to music like that and I’ve never been able to reproduce the feel of it anywhere until recently. But that is a post of its own, I think.

    • The fun in being a musician is not really in the actual on-stage events. Of course, there are some musicians who live for performing, the on-stage bit, but most musicians are not really in it for that. It’s the other 95 percent of it. I’ve always enjoyed the set-up bit, perhaps because you don’t just unload a drum set and put it up. It takes some time, and you have to adjust a load of clams and bolts and sometimes also a series of pick-ups, converters, tuners and all sorts of electronic gear, depending on the stage. If you’re an ordinary pub-band you don’t have people for that. So, my choice of instrument has forced me to develop a certain amount of zen when it comes to that particular part of music. But, setting up your gear and preparing the stage, getting to know the crew at the place, generally hanging out the hours before the gig – that’s the best part of music, if you ask me. Doing your thing on the stage is usually a sort of altered state experience. You sort of drift away from the normal track of events. I don’t have to explain that part. I’m sure you get it. I haven’t played that many intimate concert sort of things. I’ve mostly been in hard rock bands, and that kind of music demands big stages.

  4. What an awesome and weird dream. I love that you are prudish in your dreams! πŸ˜€
    And Bobcat – I can’t imagine anybody ever dreaming of him, hahaha!!

    • These particular girls weren’t subtle in their seduction technique and were constantly flashing themselves at me behind their mates back, amongst more blatant come ons. I can only assume my mind is still sick of seeing more of them than I ever wanted to, and covered them up as a result. It also explains why they were thought of as in my way and relegated to the roof for most of the dream.

      I always love the literal psychology of dreams. Not this “a journey means you want change in your life stuff” but the actual following of how thoughts translate into dream actions. For example, one time I mixed a new workplace with my old high school, both of which had been active for me at the same times of my life. Rooms of each led to the other and I figured out that the whole thing was mapped according to time spans on the different days I was in these places. An eleven o’clock room led into a twelve o’clock room and so on. Love it.

      • I also really like how it’s sometimes possible to see where certain elements in your dreams come from – like if it’s things that have been taking up some thinking space. And then the odd thing that just doesn’t fit – that makes it all weird. I’m a master of weird dreams πŸ™‚

    • A possible iPhone for Β£99 with you spending the money even if you aren’t picked, and most people being told they’ve won up front even though only one can actually win.

      I don’t know if I mentioned it in the post, but the small print was in white text on a white background as well. Even my hate for Apple is superceded by my hate for these sorts of competition companies, although the marketer in me would love a look at their books.

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