Tuesday, June 12, 2001

Yet Another Inexplicable Dream:

I am hand washing my truck (an old early '70s style chevrolet 1/2 ton) even though I don't own this truck, when suddenly I am pelted by water and the rotating brushes of an automatic car wash. Covered with foam and soaking wet, I leave the carwash bay through a industrial-type glass door. The door leads to a shop that has old lady-type knick-knacks; book ends, candles and candleholders, simmering potourri dishes, outgraously priced stuffed animals and the like. I start to browse through this stuff and suddenly I am showing stuff to Bob, a generously-sized friendly from work. I am unfazed by his instant appearance as my co-shopper and I am having a great time, showing him items that I think are humorously impractical.

The two of us continue shopping, going deeper into the store, when the stuff we start looking at gets more bizarre. We find moose antlers and stuffed animal heads, racks and racks of ugly suits, industrial-sized cooking and baking equipment and then gradually, the whole shop turns into a big Value Village-quality store. Somehow, we both find neat things to buy (I have a 30 inch wide floor polisher), then head for the checkout. Next thing I know, I'm woken up by a phone call from a coworker.


By the way, I didn't get the job at the oil company.

Just as well, as I *had* promised to stay on at ByeWire until the end of March of 2002. Things are already getting wierd as people get closer to their end dates. Tempers are a little bit shorter, outlooks a bit gloomier, and the Seattle folks seem a bit more distant. A lot of grief is still bottled up inside people and it is manifesting itself in some very unusual ways. The true leaders of this place are making themselves known, and I am realizing more and more that my allegiance is to the people that make up this business, not the business itself.