Tuesday evening:
It’s night and I’m driving in my car (I can safely assume Debbie Gibson’s “Only In My Dreams” was playing on my iPod) into a gravel parking lot of an unmarked brick building with no windows. I get out of my car looking for an entrance. I hear voices from the other side of the building but when I get there, they’re gone. There is, however, an outside stairway leading to a plain solid wood door.
I climb the stairs and open the door. There’s a wall directing in front of me and a dimly lit hallway to my left that is plastered with flyers and posters for strippers and adult movies. I walk down the sticky floor that is littered with discarded flyers. At the end of the hallway is an older woman with bleach blond hair behind a counter helping a customer. I’m looking at the posters trying to figure out what type of establishment this is exactly when I hear the customer being offered a pair of panties with his admittance. My interest is piqued when I hear they’re “autographed.” I love me some autographed merch.
The customer leaves and I approach the white trash version of Doris Roberts. I give her my Groupon voucher (even in my dreams I’m cheap) as she rolls her eyes and hands me a bunch of wadded up cash.
“What about the autographed panties?”, I inquire.
She shakes the Groupon voucher in my face and spits out, “Not with this”. Damn it why didn’t I upgrade my voucher, I’m even cheaper in my dreams than I thought.
So I look sadly at my handful of singles and try to figure out where I need to go next. Again she rolls her eyes and says, “The code is 1554.”
I start to sweat and recite the number over in my head so I won’t forget. “1554! 1554! 1554!” Just then I notice a door with a keypad off to the rear and side of the counter. I walk towards it but it just keeps getting further and further away. I’m rushing with my hand out in front of me but the nob is always just out of reach. Until I wake up, in my bed, tangled in a bundle of blankets and for a moment all I remember is 1554.
Wednesday morning:
I go to work and do my daily routine: answer some phone calls, play some Solitaire, check works email, answer some personal emails, check the work calendar for time off, scan Twitter, and came home. I do some laundry, have dinner, and then go to the gym.
Wednesday night:
Driving to the gym in the dark triggers my memory of the dream. I have a few minutes so I pull into the gas station. I don’t have my wallet with me so I scrounge up some loose change and go inside. I rarely buy lottery tickets and never the Play 4. So I just ask for a Play 4 and tell him my numbers. He asks what kind I want. Being the cool lottery player I want to appear, I just say, “The usual”, like I’m Norm from Cheers; a regular. So he proceeds to tell me what kind of ticket he’s giving me and I pretend like that’s exactly what I want.
Thursday morning:
I wake up and the first thing I do is check last nights Play 4 numbers (in case I can now retire and not have to go into work) and they were….drum roll please….
I got the 4 right but there goes my hopes and dreams of becoming a porn store psychic. I guess the moral of the story is, sometimes dreams don’t come true.
