dreamage
A well-known bank is having a “special” on savings account programs. There are several, one that is currently featured is called “Wive’s Lives”.
A 50ish white-haired mature woman is the bank director of these programs. Her husband takes advantage of her inside knowledge to devise a scheme to rip off the bank. Their scheme involves sneaking in to the bank at night and heisting the cars that are part of the program package. This involves the cars being moved from their parking spaces to other parking spaces where they can be trucked away at leisure. This all takes place in the lower chambers of the bank, which resemble more catacombs than a parking garage.
He’s directing a dozen or so henchmen to get these cars moved in time, and the pace is hectic - like a subterranean criminal valet service, moving cars in a giant 15-tile slidey puzzle. The pace is rough on the cars, some are getting dinged or fender bendered. Our leader is running to and fro shouting orders. He is furious that one guy has parked a car across two spaces (or tiles, as he calls them), and they simply don’t have room for that kind of sloppiness.
He breaks out a collapsing table saw and begins cutting wood. It is clear that he is completely careless when it comes to power tool operation. He operates the device without protective gear on, or the safety guards on the table saw in place. He is not paying attention when cutting, calling orders over his shoulder to direct others while pushing splinters through the saw, he puts pieces in while his attention is elsewhere, causing the pieces to get chewed into the blade and spit out dangerously. As in a movie, we experience this as foreshadowing and suspense-building.
It is now clear what the table saw is for, he needs it to cut more tile to put the cars on. I watch from a distance, though not far enough away that I’m not in danger of getting hit with flying debris. It occurs to me that standing behind him would be better, but for some reason I don’t move. Neither do others, though they know what’s coming too. We wince and try to avert our eyes from the inevitable. It is no surprise when he finally does slip and fall on the table saw - slicing open his chest. But it is not nearly as gory or destructive as I expected. Yes, he’s been received a lethal wound, but it’s not modern movie-esque.
His injury means ambulances, followed by police, making the heist a bust and leaving the woman without a husband.
In the aftermath, I go over to shut off the table saw but it will not shut off (it seems distinctly Steven King-ish at this point). I cannot find the switch. I look everywhere, but find no switch (another sign that he was careless with equipment). I try unplugging it, but cannot seem to find the right electrical plug, no matter how many I pull out. It continues whirring away, humming smoothly, a danger to anyone who comes near it. In resignation, I jam a rasp in the blade to stop it from turning. This is very risky, in that it will start up the moment the rasp is pulled out, and unfortunately, whomever comes across it will not know it’s on.
Fortunately, the dream ends.
A 50ish white-haired mature woman is the bank director of these programs. Her husband takes advantage of her inside knowledge to devise a scheme to rip off the bank. Their scheme involves sneaking in to the bank at night and heisting the cars that are part of the program package. This involves the cars being moved from their parking spaces to other parking spaces where they can be trucked away at leisure. This all takes place in the lower chambers of the bank, which resemble more catacombs than a parking garage.
He’s directing a dozen or so henchmen to get these cars moved in time, and the pace is hectic - like a subterranean criminal valet service, moving cars in a giant 15-tile slidey puzzle. The pace is rough on the cars, some are getting dinged or fender bendered. Our leader is running to and fro shouting orders. He is furious that one guy has parked a car across two spaces (or tiles, as he calls them), and they simply don’t have room for that kind of sloppiness.
He breaks out a collapsing table saw and begins cutting wood. It is clear that he is completely careless when it comes to power tool operation. He operates the device without protective gear on, or the safety guards on the table saw in place. He is not paying attention when cutting, calling orders over his shoulder to direct others while pushing splinters through the saw, he puts pieces in while his attention is elsewhere, causing the pieces to get chewed into the blade and spit out dangerously. As in a movie, we experience this as foreshadowing and suspense-building.
It is now clear what the table saw is for, he needs it to cut more tile to put the cars on. I watch from a distance, though not far enough away that I’m not in danger of getting hit with flying debris. It occurs to me that standing behind him would be better, but for some reason I don’t move. Neither do others, though they know what’s coming too. We wince and try to avert our eyes from the inevitable. It is no surprise when he finally does slip and fall on the table saw - slicing open his chest. But it is not nearly as gory or destructive as I expected. Yes, he’s been received a lethal wound, but it’s not modern movie-esque.
His injury means ambulances, followed by police, making the heist a bust and leaving the woman without a husband.
In the aftermath, I go over to shut off the table saw but it will not shut off (it seems distinctly Steven King-ish at this point). I cannot find the switch. I look everywhere, but find no switch (another sign that he was careless with equipment). I try unplugging it, but cannot seem to find the right electrical plug, no matter how many I pull out. It continues whirring away, humming smoothly, a danger to anyone who comes near it. In resignation, I jam a rasp in the blade to stop it from turning. This is very risky, in that it will start up the moment the rasp is pulled out, and unfortunately, whomever comes across it will not know it’s on.
Fortunately, the dream ends.