And again, a waitress dream...
These nightmares visit me when I'm feeling unappreciated, frantically-worried-but-can't-show-it, etc. . . . all the emotions that were with me during every shift when I was waiting tables.
These dreams are always like this: I'm new, nobody shows me the menu so I don't know what goes with what or what the presentation should look like, I don't know the tables that are in each station, I don't know where anything is. I walk in the door, whip out my order pad and head for a table whose menus are closed: they look ready to order.
This perfectly applicable photo from "Do You Do That at Home?"
This dream was a little different.
Most of the workers are nice to me, if a little condescending . . . until the end when one of them openly sneers at me and her companion laughs.
The beef stew, or stroganoff, or whatever it was, is served in an aluminum wash kettle deal, about 9" long and about 5" deep. One of the assistant managers passing by smiles at me and puts a piece of bubblewrap on the charger plate that's waiting for the washtub. I whisk away the bubble wrap, replace it with a napkin, smile happily at him.
Place is a restaurant but with shelves and aisles like a supermarket.
Fat middle aged women sitting all over the place at desks, smoking cigarettes.
One woman worriedly asks me a question about a paycheck with the payee's name spelled incorrectly. I reassure her, cite the law that applies, and rush away to get a piece of flatware, thinking, "Wait until I tell Jane that there's one of those nervous, picky women in every office!"
I woke myself up as I spoke out loud, asking a table of four Australian sailors, who were complaining about something going on outside the front door of the place, if they'd like to speak to the manager after I took their order.
I woke up and sat on the edge of the bed, sweating, remembering (this is true, not part of the dream) Priscilla raging at me on a Saturday night about 8:30 in 1989 because I kept taking C5 and it wasn't in my station anymore since she and another waitress had rearranged the stations.
Ugh.
Happy Monday.
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11 comments:
I have those kinds of dreams, too, but this one is so well told I feel like maybe I had it along with you. Happy Monday indeed... :-)
Oh dear, how these awful jobs follow us around. Could you perhaps try to make the dream into one where you spit into each and every plate?
Well, at least you remember your dreams. As painful as they can be at times, I think they help us a lot in understanding what's going on. I don't even remember mind any more.
I don't often remember my dreams... yet still I wake up in a cold sweat! Perhaps it is a precursor to dementia - who knows?
When I get to choose, I pick C4 everytime instead of C5, its louder and more destructive.
So it's not just me . . . I worked in two convenience stores, so in my dreams the coffeepots are always empty; the only cups are two of those thick restaurant cups I have to wash out between customers; gas driveoffs, and every item rings up wrong on the cash rester, etc. So good to wake up retired!!
You'd think I'd be able to spell cash register.
So glad I'm not having your dreams. They're an interesting read. In the, Geeze, that's awful, category.
Wow I wish I remembered my dreams in such detail. Sounds like a a Tim Burton kind of restaurant.
It's always such a pity that we don't know it's a dream till we're struggling out of its grasp . Otherwise you could have just stood there popping that bubble wrap till you woke up !
I am a member of the "strange dream club" LOL
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