My Dreams Last Night
Another dream post! This one, starring the ever effervescent Michael Kleen (a.k.a. spookywriter).
Some pictures of Mr. Kleen (Mr. Kleen):
(Yes. He almost always wears black. He's confessed that numerous times, as well as admitting he has a whole closet full of band tour T-shirts. If he ever gets married, I can't wait to see what he'll be wearing once she gets into his wardrobe.)
Preface
I consider Michael Kleen to be one of my few remaining friends still living in the Charleston, Illinois area. lateniteramen is another, but he will be graduating soon. Everyone else who is not local to Charleston has moved on to greener pastures, which is something I was discussing with my lovely wife on the way home from her company banquet last night. Perhaps that's why I had this dream...?
Dream
I'm on a plane bound for England. I've never been to England. I'm very excited.
For some reason, Mike Kleen is my travel-buddy, but we're calling him "Benny Hill." I don't know why, but I keep calling him that, even though he looks like Mike Kleen and Benny Hill's been dead for years.
We land. I assume we land in Heathrow, but I've never been there, either. I do imagine that it's a pain in the ass to get our luggage and get out to the street, but I apparently had the decency to edit those boring parts out. However, I emerge on the street feeling jostled, flustered, riled, and yet strangely victorious. I made it. This ... was ... England.
CHORUS: ["Finland" music playing] Finland, Finland, Finland! That's the country for me!
*ahem* I said: "ENGLAND."
CHORUS: Ohhhhhhhhhhh....
For some reason, the "Big Bitch/Gold Beast" (our gold Chevy Trailblazer SUV) was with me. Either it magically transported itself to England, or it was carried over on the big hoarkin' plane. In any case, I had a slip of paper with either 14441 or 14444 on it (I can't remember which), and I ran out to a busy street overlooking a car park. I was, of course, forgetting that people drive on the left-hand side in England, so traffic would have looked very confusing to any UK citizens watching my dreams.
The valet attendant took my slip of paper and radioed in for my car to be brought up. I could see on his sheet of paper where there were a bunch of numbers crossed out, and the rest of the numbers that were there were all five-digit numbers with various ones and fours. I was assured that because "14411" had just been called, my car was soon to come, so I waited. And I waited. And I waited.
I went back inside to look for "Benny Hill," who had disappeared. I went toward a little hidden staircase behind the bar which looked like it led to little airplane-like restrooms, but it in fact led to a pair of elevators. The door wasn't fully opening on one of them, and when I looked inside, it looked as though only two people could possibly fit in there. An American woman came up to me and was surprised to see I wasn't British, for some reason. I made a comment about how "it's so cute; even the lifts are small," but I don't know why I said that.
Then, I ran back out to wait for my car, only to realize it wasn't there. And neither was "Benny Hill." Turns out, Mike Kleen took the car on a joy ride. Which was even strange to me in the dream, because I felt my pocket, and I had the keys.
I went up to a security guard at the airport (who spoke with a thick African accent), and told him Benny Hill had just driven off in my car, and was there anything he could do about it? He said that kind of stuff happens all the time, and next time, I should be more careful. He made some kind of public announcement over the PA system, and said there was nothing more I could do about it. In the background, the U.S.S. Enterprise-E was landing.
[Cue "Yakety Sax"]
So, I'm running around outside the airport, trying to find Mike Kleen, so we can go home. He eventually pulls up and is all smiles. I'm so angry I could spit nails. So, I start yelling at him that he caused us to miss our flight back home, and I was supposed to go to the doctor with Gail tomorrow. And Mike's opinion is, "Just reschedule, man. You can go with her another day."
I'm getting frustrated because I *can't* just reschedule, and it's going to probably cost me another $1,000 to transfer my plane ticket to a later flight, plus I'm going to have to call Gail and apologize for why I'm not home tonight. Might as well just send me home in a coffin.
But realizing I can't change any of this, I calm down and accept my fate, and begin pondering how on earth I'm going to contact someone local so that Mike and I can have a place to stay.
And that's when I woke up.
P.S.: I'm never going to England with you, "Benny Hill."
[The grace of the Ace falls greatly on your face.]
(Post Scriptum: There are a plethora of references in this post, which has become standard fare of late. If you can find the two musical references, as well as the blatant commercial reference, then please post them!)
Some pictures of Mr. Kleen (Mr. Kleen):
(Yes. He almost always wears black. He's confessed that numerous times, as well as admitting he has a whole closet full of band tour T-shirts. If he ever gets married, I can't wait to see what he'll be wearing once she gets into his wardrobe.)
Preface
I consider Michael Kleen to be one of my few remaining friends still living in the Charleston, Illinois area. lateniteramen is another, but he will be graduating soon. Everyone else who is not local to Charleston has moved on to greener pastures, which is something I was discussing with my lovely wife on the way home from her company banquet last night. Perhaps that's why I had this dream...?
Dream
I'm on a plane bound for England. I've never been to England. I'm very excited.
For some reason, Mike Kleen is my travel-buddy, but we're calling him "Benny Hill." I don't know why, but I keep calling him that, even though he looks like Mike Kleen and Benny Hill's been dead for years.
We land. I assume we land in Heathrow, but I've never been there, either. I do imagine that it's a pain in the ass to get our luggage and get out to the street, but I apparently had the decency to edit those boring parts out. However, I emerge on the street feeling jostled, flustered, riled, and yet strangely victorious. I made it. This ... was ... England.
CHORUS: ["Finland" music playing] Finland, Finland, Finland! That's the country for me!
*ahem* I said: "ENGLAND."
CHORUS: Ohhhhhhhhhhh....
For some reason, the "Big Bitch/Gold Beast" (our gold Chevy Trailblazer SUV) was with me. Either it magically transported itself to England, or it was carried over on the big hoarkin' plane. In any case, I had a slip of paper with either 14441 or 14444 on it (I can't remember which), and I ran out to a busy street overlooking a car park. I was, of course, forgetting that people drive on the left-hand side in England, so traffic would have looked very confusing to any UK citizens watching my dreams.
The valet attendant took my slip of paper and radioed in for my car to be brought up. I could see on his sheet of paper where there were a bunch of numbers crossed out, and the rest of the numbers that were there were all five-digit numbers with various ones and fours. I was assured that because "14411" had just been called, my car was soon to come, so I waited. And I waited. And I waited.
I went back inside to look for "Benny Hill," who had disappeared. I went toward a little hidden staircase behind the bar which looked like it led to little airplane-like restrooms, but it in fact led to a pair of elevators. The door wasn't fully opening on one of them, and when I looked inside, it looked as though only two people could possibly fit in there. An American woman came up to me and was surprised to see I wasn't British, for some reason. I made a comment about how "it's so cute; even the lifts are small," but I don't know why I said that.
Then, I ran back out to wait for my car, only to realize it wasn't there. And neither was "Benny Hill." Turns out, Mike Kleen took the car on a joy ride. Which was even strange to me in the dream, because I felt my pocket, and I had the keys.
I went up to a security guard at the airport (who spoke with a thick African accent), and told him Benny Hill had just driven off in my car, and was there anything he could do about it? He said that kind of stuff happens all the time, and next time, I should be more careful. He made some kind of public announcement over the PA system, and said there was nothing more I could do about it. In the background, the U.S.S. Enterprise-E was landing.
[Cue "Yakety Sax"]
So, I'm running around outside the airport, trying to find Mike Kleen, so we can go home. He eventually pulls up and is all smiles. I'm so angry I could spit nails. So, I start yelling at him that he caused us to miss our flight back home, and I was supposed to go to the doctor with Gail tomorrow. And Mike's opinion is, "Just reschedule, man. You can go with her another day."
I'm getting frustrated because I *can't* just reschedule, and it's going to probably cost me another $1,000 to transfer my plane ticket to a later flight, plus I'm going to have to call Gail and apologize for why I'm not home tonight. Might as well just send me home in a coffin.
But realizing I can't change any of this, I calm down and accept my fate, and begin pondering how on earth I'm going to contact someone local so that Mike and I can have a place to stay.
And that's when I woke up.
P.S.: I'm never going to England with you, "Benny Hill."
[The grace of the Ace falls greatly on your face.]
(Post Scriptum: There are a plethora of references in this post, which has become standard fare of late. If you can find the two musical references, as well as the blatant commercial reference, then please post them!)