GALVANIZED
Last night I had a very bad, very vivid dream. It should have been the first night I slept well in a week because my cat Mee-Mee wasn’t in heat anymore. I dreamed that I was getting up, getting ready for work and there was a special news bulletin that interrupted the show I was watching. It said that I didn’t need to bother going to work because all jobs in Murderapolis and the surrounding suburbs had been outsourced to India. They cut away from the footage and started talking about the weather. Not believing the madness I decided to take a stroll to work anyway to see if it was true.
Overnight, Murderapolis had been transformed into a vast, howling wasteland. Everything looked wrong. There were windows knocked out of skyscrapers, trash blowing through the streets, no cars and no streetlights working, the buildings all empty and rundown. The whole place had a feeling of being hastily evacuated. The only thing there seemed to be plenty of was dust and wind. A few blocks from my building bedraggled, scarecrow-like versions of some of the people I knew I passed almost everyday on the way to work darted out of an alley and accosted me. They seemed to be trying to get something from me, but all it amounted to was a bunch of grabbing, pushing and tearing at my clothes. I broke free and ran the rest of the way.
Glass crunched under my feet as I entered US Bank plaza. The place is nothing but glass and it was all broken. The restaurant on the ground floor and the ever-vigilant guard’s desk were empty and bereft; the ATM machine battered, dark and looted, the temp agency looked like it had burned from the inside out and left a hollow scar on the exterior of the building. I walked somberly to the elevator lobby to get to the 24th floor. The elevator doors, normally gleaming chrome looked like they had been dragged down a dirt road and hurled into a gravel pit. Pitted and scarred, they cast a funhouse-like reflection of me. The building had no power, so there was no getting to the 24th floor by way of the elevators. AT that point, I caught a sideways glance at an unbroken fire extinguisher cover and was startled at the reflection that came back. My altercation with the scarecrows had left me much like them, broken and battered, dirty and bedraggled.
As I walked back outside I saw that the light rail was off its tracks and looked burned. I fell to my knees and started crying and I woke up crying at around 4:45AM stunned and relieved that the whole weird thing had been a dream.
This morning, I put in a request to take Friday off. I haven’t had a day off in a long time, but I plan on job hunting all day on this one. I’m going to print up a stack of resumes and paper the town.
I am hereby galvanized in my task. I will find a new job.
Overnight, Murderapolis had been transformed into a vast, howling wasteland. Everything looked wrong. There were windows knocked out of skyscrapers, trash blowing through the streets, no cars and no streetlights working, the buildings all empty and rundown. The whole place had a feeling of being hastily evacuated. The only thing there seemed to be plenty of was dust and wind. A few blocks from my building bedraggled, scarecrow-like versions of some of the people I knew I passed almost everyday on the way to work darted out of an alley and accosted me. They seemed to be trying to get something from me, but all it amounted to was a bunch of grabbing, pushing and tearing at my clothes. I broke free and ran the rest of the way.
Glass crunched under my feet as I entered US Bank plaza. The place is nothing but glass and it was all broken. The restaurant on the ground floor and the ever-vigilant guard’s desk were empty and bereft; the ATM machine battered, dark and looted, the temp agency looked like it had burned from the inside out and left a hollow scar on the exterior of the building. I walked somberly to the elevator lobby to get to the 24th floor. The elevator doors, normally gleaming chrome looked like they had been dragged down a dirt road and hurled into a gravel pit. Pitted and scarred, they cast a funhouse-like reflection of me. The building had no power, so there was no getting to the 24th floor by way of the elevators. AT that point, I caught a sideways glance at an unbroken fire extinguisher cover and was startled at the reflection that came back. My altercation with the scarecrows had left me much like them, broken and battered, dirty and bedraggled.
As I walked back outside I saw that the light rail was off its tracks and looked burned. I fell to my knees and started crying and I woke up crying at around 4:45AM stunned and relieved that the whole weird thing had been a dream.
This morning, I put in a request to take Friday off. I haven’t had a day off in a long time, but I plan on job hunting all day on this one. I’m going to print up a stack of resumes and paper the town.
I am hereby galvanized in my task. I will find a new job.
posted by Shakycam | 10:10 PM
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