Human Trafficking and Pizza Delivery Dream
I just woke up from a dream:
I was in an episode of "Boy Meets World", but I've never actually watched a full episode of that show, so for some reason the plot revolved around me going to some kind of work convention and purchasing two slave girls that had specifically been genetically engineered to be able to vomit the perfect industrial lubricants.
I was taking them back to my work in my car, but the episode was really low budget and I didn't actually have a car, so we had to just walk and pretend that we were in a car, and... I guess the special effects team would add in a car later? Whatever. It was really annoying. They were both between six and eight years old, and were getting really exhausted from all of the walking. And also they were tired and afraid because in spite of it being for a TV show, apparently they were ACTUALLY FOR REAL slave girls that had ACTUALLY FOR REAL been genetically engineered to vomit industrial lubricants.
The first of them, slightly older than the other, had long dark hair. She was apparently just pretty much able to throw up this green ooze on command, and she was telling me about how it had the perfect viscosity (Yes, she used the word "viscosity") for certain types of factory-floor equipment. The other girl had pure white hair, cut short, and looked perpetually sickly. She didn't talk much, but the first girl told me that the lubricant she had been designed to make was thin and runny like milkweed sap - apparently it was perfect for some specific aerospace applications - but in order to produce it, she first had to have an injection in her arm (she was terrified of needles) that would make her feverish and put her in a trance-like state (she was terrified of this too).
In the dream, the portion of the conversation about the second girl hadn't actually been spoken, but was delivered more in a series of flashbacks. So there were these really vivid visuals of this girl convulsing with her eyes unfocused, and all of these scientists standing around her in lab coats, with clipboards to take notes and beakers to collect the vomit that was just kind of drooling out of her mouth.
Anyway, needless to say, I was starting to feel really ungood about this situation. Like, I wasn't ethically comfortable being part of this operation - I was transporting slave girls against their will and for monetary gain, and now that I thought of it, I was pretty sure that that counted as human trafficking, and... My mom raised me better than this, you know? But I didn't know what else to do so...
We arrived at the parking lot of my work, and there was a sequence where I was supposed to give them names (because apparently they couldn't vomit correctly until they had names) and for some reason both of the names had to include the word "jambon" (pronounced like it's in French (Google tells me that this is actually the French word for "ham", and now that I 've looked it up, I vaguely remember that being a thing that I learned in French class in high school, but it wasn't something I remembered until I looked it up just now) with a soft "J" like in the word "beige" and an almost entirely unpronounced "N"). The only reason I know how it was supposed to be spelled is because this sequence involved me writing it on a concrete wall over and over with a sharpie. I was starting to feel a little better once it was done because the girl with the white hair was clearly feeling more confident now that she had a name.
Just then we heard this loud noise in the distance, and we turned around to see a military jet hurtling from the sky into this field across the road - but it pulled up at the last minute into an elaborate loop. For a split second, I assumed that this must be part of some air show performance, but then one of the loops it did was clearly too close to the ground, and it crashed and exploded (The explosion was behind the tree line, and the special effects for it were clearly low budget and involved confetti and cheap fireworks, but I make a point of acting shocked anyway). The girls were terrified. Then there was a bigger explosion, and this one seemed significantly more real. The whole field across the road seemed to be consumed by fire and melting. We decided that we needed to get inside.
It turned out that I worked at a pizza place. We had arrived back late, and there were two deliveries that we needed to make to an apartment complex just down the road. Technically we were supposed to take a car, but I didn't want to have to put up with more pretending to be in a car and therefore having to follow actual traffic rules, so I made the executive decision that we were just going to walk.
The pizza boxes were unnecessarily oblong - you could fit two pizzas in them side by side, but each of them only had one. And so it kept sliding and shifting around, making it difficult to be supporting the right part of the cardboard box at any given time. And to make it worse, they had apparently ordered beer as well, so I was trying to balance a few cans of beer on top of the pizza box that I was carrying.
And even though I had just bought these slave girls that were supposed to be vomiting up industrial lubricants, somehow I was aware of the fact that they had both delivered pizza to this apartment complex before, and that the younger of the two was kind of upset about having to do it again because the last time she had been there, she had dropped her pizza and everyone was really mad and upset at her about it. So I was trying to reassure her that everything would be okay, all the while trying to hold on to this precariously balanced pizza and beer. And then it turned out that the sidewalk to the apartment involved a flight of really steep stairs, and I wasn't sure how to hold this super long pizza box without tilting it and knocking the beer off, but still be able to get it up the stairs.
And that's when I woke up.
I was in an episode of "Boy Meets World", but I've never actually watched a full episode of that show, so for some reason the plot revolved around me going to some kind of work convention and purchasing two slave girls that had specifically been genetically engineered to be able to vomit the perfect industrial lubricants.
I was taking them back to my work in my car, but the episode was really low budget and I didn't actually have a car, so we had to just walk and pretend that we were in a car, and... I guess the special effects team would add in a car later? Whatever. It was really annoying. They were both between six and eight years old, and were getting really exhausted from all of the walking. And also they were tired and afraid because in spite of it being for a TV show, apparently they were ACTUALLY FOR REAL slave girls that had ACTUALLY FOR REAL been genetically engineered to vomit industrial lubricants.
The first of them, slightly older than the other, had long dark hair. She was apparently just pretty much able to throw up this green ooze on command, and she was telling me about how it had the perfect viscosity (Yes, she used the word "viscosity") for certain types of factory-floor equipment. The other girl had pure white hair, cut short, and looked perpetually sickly. She didn't talk much, but the first girl told me that the lubricant she had been designed to make was thin and runny like milkweed sap - apparently it was perfect for some specific aerospace applications - but in order to produce it, she first had to have an injection in her arm (she was terrified of needles) that would make her feverish and put her in a trance-like state (she was terrified of this too).
In the dream, the portion of the conversation about the second girl hadn't actually been spoken, but was delivered more in a series of flashbacks. So there were these really vivid visuals of this girl convulsing with her eyes unfocused, and all of these scientists standing around her in lab coats, with clipboards to take notes and beakers to collect the vomit that was just kind of drooling out of her mouth.
Anyway, needless to say, I was starting to feel really ungood about this situation. Like, I wasn't ethically comfortable being part of this operation - I was transporting slave girls against their will and for monetary gain, and now that I thought of it, I was pretty sure that that counted as human trafficking, and... My mom raised me better than this, you know? But I didn't know what else to do so...
We arrived at the parking lot of my work, and there was a sequence where I was supposed to give them names (because apparently they couldn't vomit correctly until they had names) and for some reason both of the names had to include the word "jambon" (pronounced like it's in French (Google tells me that this is actually the French word for "ham", and now that I 've looked it up, I vaguely remember that being a thing that I learned in French class in high school, but it wasn't something I remembered until I looked it up just now) with a soft "J" like in the word "beige" and an almost entirely unpronounced "N"). The only reason I know how it was supposed to be spelled is because this sequence involved me writing it on a concrete wall over and over with a sharpie. I was starting to feel a little better once it was done because the girl with the white hair was clearly feeling more confident now that she had a name.
Just then we heard this loud noise in the distance, and we turned around to see a military jet hurtling from the sky into this field across the road - but it pulled up at the last minute into an elaborate loop. For a split second, I assumed that this must be part of some air show performance, but then one of the loops it did was clearly too close to the ground, and it crashed and exploded (The explosion was behind the tree line, and the special effects for it were clearly low budget and involved confetti and cheap fireworks, but I make a point of acting shocked anyway). The girls were terrified. Then there was a bigger explosion, and this one seemed significantly more real. The whole field across the road seemed to be consumed by fire and melting. We decided that we needed to get inside.
It turned out that I worked at a pizza place. We had arrived back late, and there were two deliveries that we needed to make to an apartment complex just down the road. Technically we were supposed to take a car, but I didn't want to have to put up with more pretending to be in a car and therefore having to follow actual traffic rules, so I made the executive decision that we were just going to walk.
The pizza boxes were unnecessarily oblong - you could fit two pizzas in them side by side, but each of them only had one. And so it kept sliding and shifting around, making it difficult to be supporting the right part of the cardboard box at any given time. And to make it worse, they had apparently ordered beer as well, so I was trying to balance a few cans of beer on top of the pizza box that I was carrying.
And even though I had just bought these slave girls that were supposed to be vomiting up industrial lubricants, somehow I was aware of the fact that they had both delivered pizza to this apartment complex before, and that the younger of the two was kind of upset about having to do it again because the last time she had been there, she had dropped her pizza and everyone was really mad and upset at her about it. So I was trying to reassure her that everything would be okay, all the while trying to hold on to this precariously balanced pizza and beer. And then it turned out that the sidewalk to the apartment involved a flight of really steep stairs, and I wasn't sure how to hold this super long pizza box without tilting it and knocking the beer off, but still be able to get it up the stairs.
And that's when I woke up.