After I had the first dream, I woke momentarily and then went back to sleep. Next thing I knew, I was dreaming from the perspective of a little kid, and feeling like one, too. There was no sense of schedule, work, or anything except what was interesting or fun, and what was not interesting or fun, and a sense of being close to and guided by the person I was with.
An older kid is watching me for the day, a distant family member I always call Cuz-cuz even though he's more distant than a cousin. I call him that, and he calls me "Vic," the pronunciation of a shortened version of my name. As usual when we're together, he's brought me to a playground, where I've found a new toy I hadn't noticed the last time I was here. The toy is fascinating. It hasn't got any of the buttons or levers that many of the other toys in the playground do. It's not made to be climbed on or played in. It's a brain teaser.
I've discovered that if I focus on the little blue and brown ball inside the glass, I can make it spin and whirl, change the shape of it, and even make it blow up in a fiery explosion, after which it will slowly re-form. I've become so entranced with the toy that I've actually got my fingers and my nose pressed against the glass. I've blown it up about fifty times, but I've tired of that and am instead shaping the surface of it, making hills and valleys, watching the blue liquid on the exterior flow into the deeper areas if I move the surface where it sits.
My attention is so fully taken up with what I am doing that I don't notice the approach of a bigger kid, until he says, "What are you doing, freak?" Looking over, I see that he's taller than me, outweighs me, and looks cross. I'm not even bothered by the nickname. All the kids call me that because I look different from them. My eyes are a weird color. My skin is, too, and my hair. Of course they aren't going to understand.
Also, there are things they do that I don't, and things I do that they can't. There are things I like that they think are weird. I have learned to not act too different from them when they are around, but in this case I've been caught. None of the other kids would play with the ball inside the glass the way I am. They would just keep ripping it apart, and if they could, blowing it up.
As if to drive that point home, the boy smashes my masterpiece against the bottom of the case, flattening the ball out like a big fat brown-and-blue pancake. I tell him that I was playing with that. He smirks and laughs, and starts slamming it around rapidly inside the case, kneading it until the brown and blue mix to make a runny black tar. When I look away from him, he starts taunting me.
"Awe, you gonna cry, freak? Waaaah! Did the poor widdow baby wanna keep it fowevew? You little dumbass, everyone likes to break that thing. It would have been someone else if it hadn't been me. Why don't ya do something about it?"
He knows that I'm not allowed, but he doesn't know why. I hit harder than the other kids, even the bigger ones. I hit in ways they can't, and in ways against which they cannot defend. So, I'm not allowed to hit at all. Whenever this happens, we usually just leave the playground and go for a walk in the woods, where Cuz-cuz tells me the names of all of the plants, or tells me stories about the conquering heroes who won this home for 'our' people. He always says 'our,' even though we both know I'm not really part of the community. I'm really, really mixed. That makes me different, and as I am learning, different is bad.
I take my fingertips off of the glass, turn my back on him, and start to walk away like I've been taught. The bully follows, pushing me from behind so that I fall down. Cuz-cuz decides to get involved. I hear footsteps, and from above my position, his voice. "You should leave this one alone."
I hear the bully snort and make a lewd suggestion as to what my sitter can do with his time. Cuz-cuz, says in a very serious voice, "How old do you want to be when you die?"
The bully laughs out loud and says, "What are you gonna do about it?"
Cuz-cuz tells me to get up. I do. The bully reaches, and Cuz-cuz slaps his hand away, then kneels down beside me so that he's my height. His eyes are kind, but sad. He says, "You know when you're with me, I'm the boss, right?"
I nod. The bully snorts again, swats again, and is rebuffed by another smack of the hand. Cuz-cuz turns and tells him he'd better quit, or he'll have both of us to deal with. The bully starts taunting again, but Cuz-cuz ignores that, takes both of my hands to direct my attention to himself, and starts talking to me again. I follow his lead, watch his eyes, and listen.
He says, "Okay, then. Think of this like a test. You have limited permission. You may cause non-lethal, non-injurious torment. Do you understand? No injury, nothing lethal. Got it?" His eyes are focused on me, filled with the intensity of an adult trying to get a vital point across, even though he's barely an adolescent. I realize that he's taking a risk. He's allowed to give me this kind of permission in more serious situations, but not like this. The adults don't think I'm ready to tell the difference yet. They don't think I can keep it under control. Cuz-cuz is supposed to take me home when I'm bullied, but he's letting me hit back because we're tired of not being able to go anywhere.
This is his responsibility. The adults have made that very clear. He's not just protecting me from the other kids. He's supposed to be protecting them from me, too. I know that if I screw this up, he'll be the one in trouble, not me, but it will also mean the adults won't trust me for a long time. This is a test of my maturity and my self-restraint.
I nod. I am resolved to not harm the boy. I just want to make sure he understands that he's not picking on a wimp. I can hear him still taunting, only now he's making fun of Cuz-cuz. "Such big words for such a little kid. Do you really think the freak understands what you're saying?"
Without looking away from me, Cuz-cuz lets go with his right hand, reaches out and grabs the bully's neck, slams his face into the glass with a loud thunk, then lets go and takes my hands again. "Don't call her that, you little asshole!" he says, not even looking away from me. Then, to me, he says, "You sure you're ready, Vic?"
I nod again, and just so he knows I'm up to speed, I tell him, "No boom, no blood, right?" Cuz-cuz smiles, and nods back at me. "You got it, Vic. Show him."
He lets go of my hands, puts one of his on each of my shoulders, and turns me to face the bully. By now, there are other kids gathered around, seeing that we haven't just fled the park and wondering what is going to happen next. Secure with Cuz-cuz behind me, one arm across my chest, and both of his hands resting on my left shoulder, I look at the boy and tell him he's a big meanie. He laughs, turns to the other kids, and says, "Awe, did you guys hear that? I'm a big meanie! Oh, no... whatever will I do?" He rubs his eyes melodramatically, and the other kids laugh.
For a moment, I can feel my temper creeping in. I really don't want to let it take over, because I don't want to let Cuz-cuz down. He's doing something for me that no one else has. He's loosening my leash, just a little bit, in hopes that I won't have to put up with this any more. By doing that, he's risking severe punishment should his choice lead to anything worse than a schoolyard scrap. I can feel that he's ready to grab me and run should I go off, but I also know that by the time he could, it would be too late.
I reach up and give his hand a squeeze, and loose the building anger into the case, attacking the ball, instead of the boy. I let the energy make the ball rapidly explode and reform itself over and over for a few seconds, filling the case with fire and sludge, until the edge is spent and I'm feeling more level-headed again. The kids watch as the toy goes ballistic, the dark substance smacking against the glass, and fire lighting it up over and over... boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-BOOM! until I stop, and turn my eyes back to the now quiet bully.
The bully is losing confidence. He starts to bluster. "You ain't allowed to hit back, and I know it. You can't do anything to me. You better not."
I feel a little uncertain for a moment, but Cuz-cuz's voice behind me reminds me, "It's all right, Vic. You're allowed. Just remember to stay within the perimeters I gave you." I can feel his heart thumping against my back. He's scared. He knows the risk he's taking. Again, I squeeze his hand to let him know I'm all right. I'm not going to let him down.
Suddenly it hits me how cool this is. I'm finally going to get a little of my own back, and maybe scare this guy off of me for good. Maybe from now on the other kids, even if they're not going to like me, will at least stop being so mean. Even though I'm not allowed to really hit back, what I CAN do will be quite enough. Giggles bubble up inside, and I let them out, shooting their energy forward and wrapping it around the boy.
As the sense of exuberance wraps around him, he starts to look nervous, then grossed out as if I'd wrapped him in sewer slime. He starts trying to wipe it off of his skin, shouting, "What the hell? What are you doing to me? Stop it, you little shit!"
I start to shape the energy, still giggling at the sense of freedom and release, and begin to push it under the surface. Seconds later, his skin is a perfect match to mine, and his eyes have changed from their natural burning red to match the deep blue of the toy in the case. Looking at his hands, the boy screams wildly and begins scratching. I ask him what's wrong, doesn't he like his new look? He turns to me and demands that I change him back, right now. I ask him what if I don't? What is he going to do?
The boy threatens to beat me. I tell him to go ahead. Even with Cuz-cuz behind me, holding onto my shoulders, the bully advances, swinging his fist. As soon as he does, I make a thick, squishy wall of molded energy between us. His hand smashes into it, instead of into me. When he feels it, he punches with the other hand, both fists sinking deep in to the invisible substance, clear up past his wrists. I harden the wall, trapping him, then walk around it so I'm behind him. The other kids all move away, gasping. Feeling powerful even though I've done my tormenter no harm, I climb up onto a rock and lean over to speak quietly into his ear, telling him never to pick on anyone again, because I'll be watching. The bully, terrified because he is trapped and feeling helpless, babbles his agreement and begs me to let him go. I tell him the truth, that I've not done anything permanent. I'm holding back a lot, so everything I've changed will work itself back to normal in a few moments, but for now, I'm not going to undo what I did. He's stuck like that. He wails like a little kid whose candy was just taken away. I ignore him.
I turn and tell the other kids he's on punishment. They all know that phrase, and they know what it means. When the adults say it, it means leave that kid alone. Don't pick, because we want him to focus on whatever it is we're trying to enforce right now. You stay out of it. They all quietly turn and walk away, just as if an adult had said the phrase, and I realize that the other kids have just afforded me authority. They're responding to me not as the freak, but as the boss. I have just stepped up a lot in the playground pecking order. Maybe I will have to remind them sometimes, but from now on, I'm not the kid on whom everyone else takes out their bad-day frustration. I turn to see Cuz-cuz's approving smile. I ask him if we can go for a walk now, and he tells me I've earned it. He stands up and takes my hand, and we start to walk away.
I can feel the changes all ready wearing off of the bully. His freckles are disappearing with little popping noises. Soon, his skin will be back to normal, then his eyes, and finally, the wall will disappear, freeing him. I don't know if he'll forget his fear and pick again, or if he'll remember and stay away, but at least this was fun while it lasted, and even better, Cuz-cuz is proud of me. That makes the trip more worthwhile than anything.
I only hope he doesn't get into trouble for letting me do this.
That scene faded into the kind of walk in the woods I'd been remembering before, with "Cuz-cuz" telling me names of things and talking about how to use them. The experience felt a lot like hanging out with an older sibling. This was someone who I had to obey if he gave an order, but who didn't have the full authority of a parent. He felt like a source of sometime comfort, but not a source of discipline. There was a sense of the kind of love and admiration a little kid has for a related older kid who offers time, attention, and genuine affection... of wanting his approval, and the enjoyment of feeling important to him... but the entire experience was also clouded over by the worry that the incident at the park was going to get him into trouble with the adults in charge. I woke with that sense of worry intact, because the dream ended while we were still in the woods.
Showing posts with label harassment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label harassment. Show all posts
Parting shot down
This is one of those that started off with me knowing a bunch of things that had "happened," but which I didn't actually experience in the dream. I knew them as memories, though in reality, they have not occurred. There are some of them which might, though, because I'm in the process right now of changing jobs, and that was the subject of the dream.
I had finished the hiring process with the place I'm interviewing with now. I had a start date, giving me just enough time to provide my current employer and my psychotic, abusive boss with two weeks' notice and then have two days off before starting my new job. I hope that happens, but in reality, employers often don't give new employees start dates that far off, and I'll probably be unable to do anything like that.
I wanted very badly to be ungracious, tell her off, or quit without notice to make her scramble to cover my shift, but instead, I typed up a nice letter about how I was moving on to an environment that I felt was more suited to my professional capabilities. The one thing I could not bring myself to leave out of the letter was that I the work environment had strongly contributed to my decision to seek other employment. Not only is that an important truth, I was sure that if I didn't say it, my employer would try to use the letter as evidence against my retaliation claim with OSHA, because they've been that sneaky and underhanded about everything else.
I'm printing my "resignation" letter after having read it for what feels like the billionth time. I feel bad writing about the work environment in a notice like this, but I'd be more uncomfortable leaving the company with anything that gave the illusion that we were parting on good terms.
It takes three tries, because I'm so nervous about how this is going to go that I keep choosing the wrong printer, the one that isn't hooked up, instead of the one that is. Finally, I get it to print. I put it in a labeled envelope, for added formality. I throw a jacket on and head out the door to warm up the van.
It's freezing outside, and my old van doesn't want to start. Instead of fighting with it, I decide to walk there instead. Might as well. I've got two weeks before I'll be driving across town to work every day. The thought gives me a boost. I lock the van, go get my coat and gloves, and head up the street with my letter in hand.
The cold air beats on my face, but it's not bad. It's freezing, but not windy. By the time I get to work, though, my nose is red. I should have worn a scarf.
I'm early. From where I live, it actually takes me less time to walk to work than to drive. I take a moment and buy my usual - a quart of chocolate milk - to substitute for the fact that I won't get a lunch break during the first 6 or possibly 7 hours of the 9 hour shift for which I'm scheduled. In two weeks, I won't have to deal with that any more. The place where I'm going doesn't schedule past 8 hours, and has mandatory breaks. That's going to be different for me after 6 years of this place.
I take my purchase, with receipt, into the back room, and hand my boss the envelope. She's on the phone. She doesn't look at it, so she doesn't notice that it says my name, followed by "two weeks' notice" on the front. I wait until she is off the phone. She glances at the envelope, does a double-take, then gets up and walks out of the room.
Okay, fine. I'm not playing her game today. I'm in a good mood.
I wait to clock in. I can hear her "pissed off" laugh, a harsh, pounding laughter she pulls out for occasions when she wants to sound like she's not bothered or upset, but she's actually really steamed. That lets me know she definitely read the front of the envelope and is pretending not to have noticed.
Whatever. Time comes around, and I clock in, walk out, and ask which register I'm on. She tells me. I start the routine for opening that register. I'm about to ask to make sure she did read the front of that envelope, when she abruptly turns and walks into the back room again.
My co-worker asks me what set her off. I tell him. He laughs. I ask what's so funny, and he very quietly says, "She was talking about you on the phone this morning, planning how to break you down by making you work swing shifts for a month. Now, she can't. You just ruined her plans."
We are stocking cigarettes while we talk, grabbing packs out of cartons and stuffing them into the pack rack behind us. It's an unending task, so we're kept pretty busy even though there's not a customer in the store.
She hears our quiet voices, comes out to the front, and says, "You guys going to do any work today, or just stand around talking?" We both stop what we're doing, hands full of cigarettes, and look at her like she's grown a second head. She can see that we're performing job duties. She's just in a bad mood.
I say, "Look, just because you're annoyed about my notice doesn't mean you have to bark at us. You can see that we're working." Now that I don't have to fear unemployment, her behavior doesn't evoke the same impotent, head-down-closed-mouth resentful anger. I'm not caged any more.
My coworker chokes on thin air, coughs and sputters, and escapes the situation by heading over to brew a pot of coffee. He's not abandoning me. He's getting out of my way.
She says, "So, where will you be working?"
I remind her that, as it says in my letter, I'm not disclosing that information. What I didn't say in the letter is my reason, which is that I fully expect her to try to sabotage my new position by showing up and bad-mouthing me to my new boss before she even gets a chance to get to know me.
My boss glares at me and tells me that by refusing to answer her question, I'm being insubordinate, and she can fire me on the spot. I know that's not true. It takes the company two weeks just to write an employee up, and they can't fire me without doing that first. By the time they get anything done, I'll be at my new workplace anyway. She's just blowing smoke, and we're both aware of that.
I smile and wait. Forced to back down from what she said, she starts handing out crap duty, literally. I'm ordered to first clean the restrooms, then take lot duty. No one ever gets both of those chores in one shift, and I know it's meant as a punishment, but it doesn't bother me, because I know that's all she can do.
Then she says, "...and when you get done with that, you can meet me in the cooler."
So, I'm assigned all of the heavy lifting for the day. Okay. I can handle that.
I start the tasks, grabbing the necessary tools. While I'm in the men's room cleaning, I hear someone go into the ladies' and move around. When I go in there, it's a mess, toilet paper everywhere, wetness on the floor, walls, and bowl. I leave the cleaning equipment there, put up the wet floor sign, and go for a bucket. I can't believe she thought this would phase me. All I have to do is sweep up the paper, then pour water on everything before washing and sanitizing. There's a drain in the floor, for crying out loud.
She has this smug look on her face. I smile and wander off with the bucket and broom, as the smug look changes to confusion. When it doesn't take me any longer to do the ladies' room than to do the men's, and I don't complain about it, she has to look and make sure I actually did the chore, taking my coworker with her to witness, because she's assuming I didn't get it done. While she's doing that, I gather the stuff for lot duty. I hear the coworker say, "...looks like she washed the walls, too." as I'm on my way out the door. My boss glares at me, but what can she say? It's clean and dry.
I go through the whole series of tasks for lot without incident, taking about half an hour to get everything done, because for once, it isn't that bad. Usually, she waits until later in the day to send me out, so I'm used to the chore being messier and heavier.
I come back inside and head for the cooler, but she's not there. I find her in the back room, let her know lot is done, and I'm ready for the next thing. She tells me it can't be done that fast, and she's going to go inspect my work for short cuts. I shrug, and ask if she wants me to wait here or start in the cooler. That I'm not concerned pisses her off, and she tells me I'd better check my attitude, as if I said something different. When that also fails to bother me, she sends me on into the cooler and goes outside.
By the time she joins me in the cooler ten minutes later, I've got two "doors" filled with product and am working on the third. I work much faster when I'm in there by myself. She immediately begins working on whatever she can find that involves reaching for things that are over my head. Everywhere I go, she has to put the step ladder right over me, then climb up and reach for stuff, knocking it down so that I have to catch it to keep it from falling on me. I stop working on what I'm doing, go to the other end of the cooler where there are no shelves, and start putting away bottles of pop. She glares at me, starts telling me how worthless she thinks I am, and how it won't matter if I go someplace new because I'm never going to amount to anything. She says I'll end up in as much trouble at my new job as I am with her, calls me lazy and stupid, and accuses me of having issues with people in authority.
That finally gets to me. I've never had trouble at work like this. In my past, to which she is not privy, I've been far above the position I'm in now, and my success in the past was due to my work ethic and professionalism. She doesn't know anything about me, and has no right to make such criticisms. I grit my teeth and continue stocking, reminding myself that I've only got two more weeks to deal with her. She continues berating me, pushing and pushing, talking about the person she's made up in her head for me to be, instead of the person I know that I am. Then she starts talking about what kind of parents must have raised me.
I can handle all of it, until she starts talking about my mother. I know what she's trying to do. She thinks if she pisses me off enough, I'll hit her, and she'll be able to press charges, once again showing me the false image of me she's built up in her mind. I struggle to not lose my temper, but I've been subjected to a half-hour barrage, and I'm worn down. I finally tell her what I'm thinking. I've been a foreign ambassador for my hometown. I've been a business owner, a teacher, a professional artist, and a model. I've been not only above the position I'm in now, but above the position she's in. With the way she treats her subordinates, and the attitude she has toward other people, she'll never be anything more than the fat fish in a little pond that she is now. And it doesn't matter what she says, because I'm out from under her thumb, and there's nothing she can do about that. There's nothing more she can do to me but stupid, petty little things like this.
She turns beet red and rushes me. I try to put the cooler door between us, but she runs around it, slams into me, and knocks me into the beer cave, landing on top of me. She sits up and starts swinging at my face, calling me obscene names the whole time. I'm trying to dodge and block, but she's getting through anyway. A regular customer sees the fight, and rushes in to pull my boss off of me. I scramble away from her, backing up against a rack of 12-pack bottles. The customer is looking at us like we're from another planet, but at the same time, he's kind of grinning, and I know he's thinking, "Cool! Chick fight!"
She immediately cools off, tells the guy that this isn't what it looks like, and I attacked her. He looks at the shiner that's all ready forming under my eye, blood on my lip, bruised arms, and messed up hair, then at her undamaged face, and unruffled demeanor, and says, "Riiiiiight."
She still pulls out her phone, calls the police, and says she wants to press charges. The customer immediately tells me he'll hang around and act as a witness, and I know that the bulk of the assault is on the store's video of the beer cave, but there's no proof of what happened in the cooler, and I'll probably be arrested on her word before the whole thing gets straightened out. I hear her also tell the dispatcher that I stole a quart of chocolate milk, which is sitting in the back room without a receipt. I paid with my check card, so again, I'll be able to prove she's lying, but it's going to take time to get that proof.
She's going to try to make sure I'm unavailable to start my new job. My heart sinks, and I feel totally defeated, wondering if I'm ever going to win one instead of getting trampled all the time.
I woke today feeling pretty depressed, probably because tomorrow is my first day back after being on vacation for a week. My boss hasn't had me at work to harass every day, and I know what happens when she doesn't get her fix. After her week's vacation in December, she was intolerable for days. That's why I ended up taking these days off. I just needed to get the hell away from her. I've really been dreading going back.
A few minutes ago, I got a phone call that has changed all of that. I just got hired in to the photo center of a bigger chain store. It's going to start out part time, but I've all ready been told I'll be getting more hours soon.
I've actually got a new job. I am out from under her thumb. It's real. And unlike in my nightmares, there's going to be nothing she can do about it. I'll never have to deal with her again.
In the meantime, I'm really glad I'm not dreaming about the scary monster that has been haunting my nightmares for almost a month. Between getting through that, and the good news today, I'm feeling pretty darned good, like a thousand pound weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.
Gotta go - time to start composing my letter. ˆ֊ˆ
I had finished the hiring process with the place I'm interviewing with now. I had a start date, giving me just enough time to provide my current employer and my psychotic, abusive boss with two weeks' notice and then have two days off before starting my new job. I hope that happens, but in reality, employers often don't give new employees start dates that far off, and I'll probably be unable to do anything like that.
I wanted very badly to be ungracious, tell her off, or quit without notice to make her scramble to cover my shift, but instead, I typed up a nice letter about how I was moving on to an environment that I felt was more suited to my professional capabilities. The one thing I could not bring myself to leave out of the letter was that I the work environment had strongly contributed to my decision to seek other employment. Not only is that an important truth, I was sure that if I didn't say it, my employer would try to use the letter as evidence against my retaliation claim with OSHA, because they've been that sneaky and underhanded about everything else.
I'm printing my "resignation" letter after having read it for what feels like the billionth time. I feel bad writing about the work environment in a notice like this, but I'd be more uncomfortable leaving the company with anything that gave the illusion that we were parting on good terms.
It takes three tries, because I'm so nervous about how this is going to go that I keep choosing the wrong printer, the one that isn't hooked up, instead of the one that is. Finally, I get it to print. I put it in a labeled envelope, for added formality. I throw a jacket on and head out the door to warm up the van.
It's freezing outside, and my old van doesn't want to start. Instead of fighting with it, I decide to walk there instead. Might as well. I've got two weeks before I'll be driving across town to work every day. The thought gives me a boost. I lock the van, go get my coat and gloves, and head up the street with my letter in hand.
The cold air beats on my face, but it's not bad. It's freezing, but not windy. By the time I get to work, though, my nose is red. I should have worn a scarf.
I'm early. From where I live, it actually takes me less time to walk to work than to drive. I take a moment and buy my usual - a quart of chocolate milk - to substitute for the fact that I won't get a lunch break during the first 6 or possibly 7 hours of the 9 hour shift for which I'm scheduled. In two weeks, I won't have to deal with that any more. The place where I'm going doesn't schedule past 8 hours, and has mandatory breaks. That's going to be different for me after 6 years of this place.
I take my purchase, with receipt, into the back room, and hand my boss the envelope. She's on the phone. She doesn't look at it, so she doesn't notice that it says my name, followed by "two weeks' notice" on the front. I wait until she is off the phone. She glances at the envelope, does a double-take, then gets up and walks out of the room.
Okay, fine. I'm not playing her game today. I'm in a good mood.
I wait to clock in. I can hear her "pissed off" laugh, a harsh, pounding laughter she pulls out for occasions when she wants to sound like she's not bothered or upset, but she's actually really steamed. That lets me know she definitely read the front of the envelope and is pretending not to have noticed.
Whatever. Time comes around, and I clock in, walk out, and ask which register I'm on. She tells me. I start the routine for opening that register. I'm about to ask to make sure she did read the front of that envelope, when she abruptly turns and walks into the back room again.
My co-worker asks me what set her off. I tell him. He laughs. I ask what's so funny, and he very quietly says, "She was talking about you on the phone this morning, planning how to break you down by making you work swing shifts for a month. Now, she can't. You just ruined her plans."
We are stocking cigarettes while we talk, grabbing packs out of cartons and stuffing them into the pack rack behind us. It's an unending task, so we're kept pretty busy even though there's not a customer in the store.
She hears our quiet voices, comes out to the front, and says, "You guys going to do any work today, or just stand around talking?" We both stop what we're doing, hands full of cigarettes, and look at her like she's grown a second head. She can see that we're performing job duties. She's just in a bad mood.
I say, "Look, just because you're annoyed about my notice doesn't mean you have to bark at us. You can see that we're working." Now that I don't have to fear unemployment, her behavior doesn't evoke the same impotent, head-down-closed-mouth resentful anger. I'm not caged any more.
My coworker chokes on thin air, coughs and sputters, and escapes the situation by heading over to brew a pot of coffee. He's not abandoning me. He's getting out of my way.
She says, "So, where will you be working?"
I remind her that, as it says in my letter, I'm not disclosing that information. What I didn't say in the letter is my reason, which is that I fully expect her to try to sabotage my new position by showing up and bad-mouthing me to my new boss before she even gets a chance to get to know me.
My boss glares at me and tells me that by refusing to answer her question, I'm being insubordinate, and she can fire me on the spot. I know that's not true. It takes the company two weeks just to write an employee up, and they can't fire me without doing that first. By the time they get anything done, I'll be at my new workplace anyway. She's just blowing smoke, and we're both aware of that.
I smile and wait. Forced to back down from what she said, she starts handing out crap duty, literally. I'm ordered to first clean the restrooms, then take lot duty. No one ever gets both of those chores in one shift, and I know it's meant as a punishment, but it doesn't bother me, because I know that's all she can do.
Then she says, "...and when you get done with that, you can meet me in the cooler."
So, I'm assigned all of the heavy lifting for the day. Okay. I can handle that.
I start the tasks, grabbing the necessary tools. While I'm in the men's room cleaning, I hear someone go into the ladies' and move around. When I go in there, it's a mess, toilet paper everywhere, wetness on the floor, walls, and bowl. I leave the cleaning equipment there, put up the wet floor sign, and go for a bucket. I can't believe she thought this would phase me. All I have to do is sweep up the paper, then pour water on everything before washing and sanitizing. There's a drain in the floor, for crying out loud.
She has this smug look on her face. I smile and wander off with the bucket and broom, as the smug look changes to confusion. When it doesn't take me any longer to do the ladies' room than to do the men's, and I don't complain about it, she has to look and make sure I actually did the chore, taking my coworker with her to witness, because she's assuming I didn't get it done. While she's doing that, I gather the stuff for lot duty. I hear the coworker say, "...looks like she washed the walls, too." as I'm on my way out the door. My boss glares at me, but what can she say? It's clean and dry.
I go through the whole series of tasks for lot without incident, taking about half an hour to get everything done, because for once, it isn't that bad. Usually, she waits until later in the day to send me out, so I'm used to the chore being messier and heavier.
I come back inside and head for the cooler, but she's not there. I find her in the back room, let her know lot is done, and I'm ready for the next thing. She tells me it can't be done that fast, and she's going to go inspect my work for short cuts. I shrug, and ask if she wants me to wait here or start in the cooler. That I'm not concerned pisses her off, and she tells me I'd better check my attitude, as if I said something different. When that also fails to bother me, she sends me on into the cooler and goes outside.
By the time she joins me in the cooler ten minutes later, I've got two "doors" filled with product and am working on the third. I work much faster when I'm in there by myself. She immediately begins working on whatever she can find that involves reaching for things that are over my head. Everywhere I go, she has to put the step ladder right over me, then climb up and reach for stuff, knocking it down so that I have to catch it to keep it from falling on me. I stop working on what I'm doing, go to the other end of the cooler where there are no shelves, and start putting away bottles of pop. She glares at me, starts telling me how worthless she thinks I am, and how it won't matter if I go someplace new because I'm never going to amount to anything. She says I'll end up in as much trouble at my new job as I am with her, calls me lazy and stupid, and accuses me of having issues with people in authority.
That finally gets to me. I've never had trouble at work like this. In my past, to which she is not privy, I've been far above the position I'm in now, and my success in the past was due to my work ethic and professionalism. She doesn't know anything about me, and has no right to make such criticisms. I grit my teeth and continue stocking, reminding myself that I've only got two more weeks to deal with her. She continues berating me, pushing and pushing, talking about the person she's made up in her head for me to be, instead of the person I know that I am. Then she starts talking about what kind of parents must have raised me.
I can handle all of it, until she starts talking about my mother. I know what she's trying to do. She thinks if she pisses me off enough, I'll hit her, and she'll be able to press charges, once again showing me the false image of me she's built up in her mind. I struggle to not lose my temper, but I've been subjected to a half-hour barrage, and I'm worn down. I finally tell her what I'm thinking. I've been a foreign ambassador for my hometown. I've been a business owner, a teacher, a professional artist, and a model. I've been not only above the position I'm in now, but above the position she's in. With the way she treats her subordinates, and the attitude she has toward other people, she'll never be anything more than the fat fish in a little pond that she is now. And it doesn't matter what she says, because I'm out from under her thumb, and there's nothing she can do about that. There's nothing more she can do to me but stupid, petty little things like this.
She turns beet red and rushes me. I try to put the cooler door between us, but she runs around it, slams into me, and knocks me into the beer cave, landing on top of me. She sits up and starts swinging at my face, calling me obscene names the whole time. I'm trying to dodge and block, but she's getting through anyway. A regular customer sees the fight, and rushes in to pull my boss off of me. I scramble away from her, backing up against a rack of 12-pack bottles. The customer is looking at us like we're from another planet, but at the same time, he's kind of grinning, and I know he's thinking, "Cool! Chick fight!"
She immediately cools off, tells the guy that this isn't what it looks like, and I attacked her. He looks at the shiner that's all ready forming under my eye, blood on my lip, bruised arms, and messed up hair, then at her undamaged face, and unruffled demeanor, and says, "Riiiiiight."
She still pulls out her phone, calls the police, and says she wants to press charges. The customer immediately tells me he'll hang around and act as a witness, and I know that the bulk of the assault is on the store's video of the beer cave, but there's no proof of what happened in the cooler, and I'll probably be arrested on her word before the whole thing gets straightened out. I hear her also tell the dispatcher that I stole a quart of chocolate milk, which is sitting in the back room without a receipt. I paid with my check card, so again, I'll be able to prove she's lying, but it's going to take time to get that proof.
She's going to try to make sure I'm unavailable to start my new job. My heart sinks, and I feel totally defeated, wondering if I'm ever going to win one instead of getting trampled all the time.
I woke today feeling pretty depressed, probably because tomorrow is my first day back after being on vacation for a week. My boss hasn't had me at work to harass every day, and I know what happens when she doesn't get her fix. After her week's vacation in December, she was intolerable for days. That's why I ended up taking these days off. I just needed to get the hell away from her. I've really been dreading going back.
A few minutes ago, I got a phone call that has changed all of that. I just got hired in to the photo center of a bigger chain store. It's going to start out part time, but I've all ready been told I'll be getting more hours soon.
I've actually got a new job. I am out from under her thumb. It's real. And unlike in my nightmares, there's going to be nothing she can do about it. I'll never have to deal with her again.
In the meantime, I'm really glad I'm not dreaming about the scary monster that has been haunting my nightmares for almost a month. Between getting through that, and the good news today, I'm feeling pretty darned good, like a thousand pound weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.
Gotta go - time to start composing my letter. ˆ֊ˆ
Shake it up, baby
I'm at work, assigned to the register closest to the door. Everything is going as normal, checking people out and stocking cigarettes. There is a young looking woman at my register who wants to buy a carton of our store brand, but when I ask for ID as required by law for anyone who looks under 30, she gets mad. She yells at me and tells me she's an adult with the right to buy cigarettes just like any other adult.
I tell her I'm happy to sell her anything in the store, but the law says if I think she looks under 30, I'm not allowed to sell cigarettes to her without ID. It's out of my hands. I even sympathize, telling her how my sister-in-law, who is my age, still gets carded entering clubs and bars because she looks twelve, and how she can at least take some solace in the fact that she'll always be prettier than the other ladies her age because she has such an ageless face. She calms down and gets out her ID. She is actually 35 years old, but I would have pegged her at no older than 17. The ID is legit, scans properly and everything. In truth, I really envy this lady, because I had gray hair at 18, and could get into bars without ID at 17. I looked 30 from the time I was 12 through about the age of 35.
After the lady pays for her purchases and walks out the door (with a smile) and is therefore out of earshot, my boss starts crowing to the rest of my coworkers, alleging that I was flirting with and hitting on this young kid, barely old enough to buy cigarettes. Thus begins the argument of "I was not flirting" and "yes you were," followed by "she was not a kid; her ID said 35" and "it must have been fake" followed by "it scanned properly and had no signs of forgery."
There really is nowhere to go with this; I've actually been ordered by higher-ups at work to not document when my boss harasses me. I look at the clock to try to fix the time in my mind so I can write it down at home, angry that I can't deal with a female customer without my boss accusing me of flirting. Where does she think she gets off doing that? I don't flirt with anyone at work. Oddly, I can see that my boss is really getting annoyed by the discussion, too. She's not razzing me with allegations of flirting; she sounds offended. In the back of my mind, something goes off, and I feel like I'm getting snapped at for stepping on a dog's tail.
The other cashier does not pick up on my body language, and teases me about the lady. I say cut it out, and try to demonstrate in every way that I can that I'm not amused. My coworker doesn't get it, and asks why I didn't get a phone number. At this point, I'm nearly seeing red over this. I'm uncomfortable with the situation, unhappy with the insinuation, and concerned that someone will tell the lady about it the next time she comes in and I'll have to deal with that, too. I am really not interested in her, and don't want to have to clear that up with her.
I tell my coworker, "Seriously, cut it out. I'm done with this discussion." I get back to stocking cigarettes.
She replies, "Whatever. I don't care who you pick up at work. I just thought it was funny."
I reply by repeating my point, this time with a frown, a vehement tone of voice, and the stomp of my foot. Right as my foot hits the floor, stuff falls off of all of our shelves. Then, cigarettes fall out of the pack racks over our heads, less than a second after stuff falling from the shelves. I can hear things falling in the back room, too. My first thought is, what the heck? I didn't stomp that hard!
My boss comes out and yells my name. I turn to look at her. She has this incredulous and indignant look on her face. She says, "You'd better slow your..." but is interrupted as the whole room jerks sideways. All of us stumble, trying to keep our balance. I'm in the doorway between the registers and the office I grab the doorway for support. My boss is holding on to the steel sink in the back room. The cook is right beside her. The refrigerator with wheels that don't lock any more rolls across the room and slams into the freezer.
At the register, the other cashier is thrown to the floor. On the other side of the counter, a customer entering the store falls into the building, landing on his face on the floor. All of this happens in a split second. Momentarily, there is no further shaking. I check that my coworker is ok, then run around the front counter to see that the customer's nose is bleeding. I grab a clean towel and get a handful of ice to wrap in it, run to the customer, and offer that for his nose. As he looks up, it is obvious that the nose is broken. The customer gingerly applies ice, while asking, "What the hell was that?"
I say, "I think it was an..." but am interrupted by further shaking. The floor lurches up and then sideways beneath us, then the whole room seems to just vibrate. The remaining merchandise falls off of the shelves. We can hear stuff falling inside the cooler and hitting the doors and the floor. The customer and I are on the floor, and we can't move. We hear someone scream in the back room, and I think maybe the refrigerator hit someone.
**************************************************
I am in the back room with my boss and the district manager. They are lecturing me about my "temper tantrum." I keep telling them that earthquakes are a natural phenomenon, and that there are news stories about the cause. They tell me that it doesn't matter what I say, the decision has all ready been made and I'm being held responsible. My boss tells me that they're going to have to document this, and I'm required to sign it, or I'll be let go. I read the write up, and it clearly says I caused an earthquake throughout the greater metro area because I was angry about being ribbed by my coworkers about my behavior.
I say, "First of all, I'm not signing this. It's bullshit, and it won't stand up in court. If you fire me for not signing this, I'll get unemployment."
My boss gives me that incredulous, offended look, complete with her patented taken-aback jump-and-gasp that she uses to try to make people believe their own thoughts and feelings (like the feeling of urgency after being denied a restroom trip until over an hour after stating the need to go) are not legitimate or valid.
I outwardly ignore that and continue, "Second, if you really believe that I have such great power over nature and the physical world that I can cause a 4.0 earthquake under your feet and around your entire city, do you really think getting fired from this job is going to phase me? Do you really want to piss off someone who you think can do that? I mean, one of two things is true here. Either you're sane and smart enough to realize that what you're accusing is impossible and this 'documentation' of yours is invalid and illegitimate, or you're crazy or dumb enough to believe I can make the earth shake, but still willing to do something upsetting at the risk of finding out what else I can do. Which is it?"
The district manager tells me that is enough of my "smart mouth" and orders me to sign the paper. I refuse, and am ordered out of the building. My boss dials a number on her phone as the DM is speaking to me, and just as he finishes the order, I hear her telling someone on the phone that she needs police to come and arrest me for causing the city-wide earthquake, and for threatening to cause another one. An officer who happens to be buying coffee at the register by the doorway to the back room hears her, and gets an amused look on his face until I tell him that she's serious, and that's a real phone call.
I hear her arguing with the person on the other end of the phone line that she has "documented proof" in the form of a record of the preceding conversation, then hedging with, "no, it's not a recording, we're writing it down."
I leave the room to go talk to the officer. I tell him my boss and the DM think I caused the recent earthquake. He asks if they know that the epicenter was west of the city to the south of us, and I tell him they don't care. They think I can control nature, cause disasters, and so on, and I'm being fired for having done so. The officer gives me a blank stare. Another customer says, "file for unemployment."
I realize I'm back in the same position I was in after my injury in July, and I'm going to have to fight that battle all over again.
I return to the back room, grab the paper away from my boss, and use the fax machine to copy it. My boss tries to take it away from me and I turn my back on her. I feel her pounding on my back, then hear the officer shouting, "Stand back. That is an assault!" My boss stops hitting me. I turn to see the officer cuffing her. She looks furious. I take the paper, fold it up, and put it into my pocket. She tells me I can't take it because it's company property. I tell her that since it's going in my personnel file, I'm entitled to a copy, and I'm taking it. I tell the officer I'll press assault charges, and he tells me I'm going to have paperwork to fill out. I am filled with a sense of dread at having to deal with this process, even though it's pretty certain to come out in my favor. I hate fighting!
The whole time, I had this Monty-python-esque sense of real unreality. I'm not dead yet. I'm getting better. (No you're not. You're not fooling anyone - get on the cart!) I felt like I was handling the situation the best it could be handled, but at the same time, I was really unsure how things were going to come out.
I am tired of having dreams about work, and really tired about having earthquake dreams. I know my life is shaken up and I'm all stressed out, but enough all ready! I will be glad when school is out and we can move away from this area.
I tell her I'm happy to sell her anything in the store, but the law says if I think she looks under 30, I'm not allowed to sell cigarettes to her without ID. It's out of my hands. I even sympathize, telling her how my sister-in-law, who is my age, still gets carded entering clubs and bars because she looks twelve, and how she can at least take some solace in the fact that she'll always be prettier than the other ladies her age because she has such an ageless face. She calms down and gets out her ID. She is actually 35 years old, but I would have pegged her at no older than 17. The ID is legit, scans properly and everything. In truth, I really envy this lady, because I had gray hair at 18, and could get into bars without ID at 17. I looked 30 from the time I was 12 through about the age of 35.
After the lady pays for her purchases and walks out the door (with a smile) and is therefore out of earshot, my boss starts crowing to the rest of my coworkers, alleging that I was flirting with and hitting on this young kid, barely old enough to buy cigarettes. Thus begins the argument of "I was not flirting" and "yes you were," followed by "she was not a kid; her ID said 35" and "it must have been fake" followed by "it scanned properly and had no signs of forgery."
There really is nowhere to go with this; I've actually been ordered by higher-ups at work to not document when my boss harasses me. I look at the clock to try to fix the time in my mind so I can write it down at home, angry that I can't deal with a female customer without my boss accusing me of flirting. Where does she think she gets off doing that? I don't flirt with anyone at work. Oddly, I can see that my boss is really getting annoyed by the discussion, too. She's not razzing me with allegations of flirting; she sounds offended. In the back of my mind, something goes off, and I feel like I'm getting snapped at for stepping on a dog's tail.
The other cashier does not pick up on my body language, and teases me about the lady. I say cut it out, and try to demonstrate in every way that I can that I'm not amused. My coworker doesn't get it, and asks why I didn't get a phone number. At this point, I'm nearly seeing red over this. I'm uncomfortable with the situation, unhappy with the insinuation, and concerned that someone will tell the lady about it the next time she comes in and I'll have to deal with that, too. I am really not interested in her, and don't want to have to clear that up with her.
I tell my coworker, "Seriously, cut it out. I'm done with this discussion." I get back to stocking cigarettes.
She replies, "Whatever. I don't care who you pick up at work. I just thought it was funny."
I reply by repeating my point, this time with a frown, a vehement tone of voice, and the stomp of my foot. Right as my foot hits the floor, stuff falls off of all of our shelves. Then, cigarettes fall out of the pack racks over our heads, less than a second after stuff falling from the shelves. I can hear things falling in the back room, too. My first thought is, what the heck? I didn't stomp that hard!
My boss comes out and yells my name. I turn to look at her. She has this incredulous and indignant look on her face. She says, "You'd better slow your..." but is interrupted as the whole room jerks sideways. All of us stumble, trying to keep our balance. I'm in the doorway between the registers and the office I grab the doorway for support. My boss is holding on to the steel sink in the back room. The cook is right beside her. The refrigerator with wheels that don't lock any more rolls across the room and slams into the freezer.
At the register, the other cashier is thrown to the floor. On the other side of the counter, a customer entering the store falls into the building, landing on his face on the floor. All of this happens in a split second. Momentarily, there is no further shaking. I check that my coworker is ok, then run around the front counter to see that the customer's nose is bleeding. I grab a clean towel and get a handful of ice to wrap in it, run to the customer, and offer that for his nose. As he looks up, it is obvious that the nose is broken. The customer gingerly applies ice, while asking, "What the hell was that?"
I say, "I think it was an..." but am interrupted by further shaking. The floor lurches up and then sideways beneath us, then the whole room seems to just vibrate. The remaining merchandise falls off of the shelves. We can hear stuff falling inside the cooler and hitting the doors and the floor. The customer and I are on the floor, and we can't move. We hear someone scream in the back room, and I think maybe the refrigerator hit someone.
**************************************************
I am in the back room with my boss and the district manager. They are lecturing me about my "temper tantrum." I keep telling them that earthquakes are a natural phenomenon, and that there are news stories about the cause. They tell me that it doesn't matter what I say, the decision has all ready been made and I'm being held responsible. My boss tells me that they're going to have to document this, and I'm required to sign it, or I'll be let go. I read the write up, and it clearly says I caused an earthquake throughout the greater metro area because I was angry about being ribbed by my coworkers about my behavior.
I say, "First of all, I'm not signing this. It's bullshit, and it won't stand up in court. If you fire me for not signing this, I'll get unemployment."
My boss gives me that incredulous, offended look, complete with her patented taken-aback jump-and-gasp that she uses to try to make people believe their own thoughts and feelings (like the feeling of urgency after being denied a restroom trip until over an hour after stating the need to go) are not legitimate or valid.
I outwardly ignore that and continue, "Second, if you really believe that I have such great power over nature and the physical world that I can cause a 4.0 earthquake under your feet and around your entire city, do you really think getting fired from this job is going to phase me? Do you really want to piss off someone who you think can do that? I mean, one of two things is true here. Either you're sane and smart enough to realize that what you're accusing is impossible and this 'documentation' of yours is invalid and illegitimate, or you're crazy or dumb enough to believe I can make the earth shake, but still willing to do something upsetting at the risk of finding out what else I can do. Which is it?"
The district manager tells me that is enough of my "smart mouth" and orders me to sign the paper. I refuse, and am ordered out of the building. My boss dials a number on her phone as the DM is speaking to me, and just as he finishes the order, I hear her telling someone on the phone that she needs police to come and arrest me for causing the city-wide earthquake, and for threatening to cause another one. An officer who happens to be buying coffee at the register by the doorway to the back room hears her, and gets an amused look on his face until I tell him that she's serious, and that's a real phone call.
I hear her arguing with the person on the other end of the phone line that she has "documented proof" in the form of a record of the preceding conversation, then hedging with, "no, it's not a recording, we're writing it down."
I leave the room to go talk to the officer. I tell him my boss and the DM think I caused the recent earthquake. He asks if they know that the epicenter was west of the city to the south of us, and I tell him they don't care. They think I can control nature, cause disasters, and so on, and I'm being fired for having done so. The officer gives me a blank stare. Another customer says, "file for unemployment."
I realize I'm back in the same position I was in after my injury in July, and I'm going to have to fight that battle all over again.
I return to the back room, grab the paper away from my boss, and use the fax machine to copy it. My boss tries to take it away from me and I turn my back on her. I feel her pounding on my back, then hear the officer shouting, "Stand back. That is an assault!" My boss stops hitting me. I turn to see the officer cuffing her. She looks furious. I take the paper, fold it up, and put it into my pocket. She tells me I can't take it because it's company property. I tell her that since it's going in my personnel file, I'm entitled to a copy, and I'm taking it. I tell the officer I'll press assault charges, and he tells me I'm going to have paperwork to fill out. I am filled with a sense of dread at having to deal with this process, even though it's pretty certain to come out in my favor. I hate fighting!
The whole time, I had this Monty-python-esque sense of real unreality. I'm not dead yet. I'm getting better. (No you're not. You're not fooling anyone - get on the cart!) I felt like I was handling the situation the best it could be handled, but at the same time, I was really unsure how things were going to come out.
I am tired of having dreams about work, and really tired about having earthquake dreams. I know my life is shaken up and I'm all stressed out, but enough all ready! I will be glad when school is out and we can move away from this area.
Have a nice plate of WTF for dinner
I am out with my husband and our friends. We don't go out much just as adults, because we all have kids, but tonight each of us is able because our kids are all with family or friends on overnight visits.
We're someplace that serves food and alcohol, and has music. I am not drinking alcohol, but I've had something to eat. There is a very laid back atmosphere here. Some groups are quieter, just talking and laughing, but others are louder and more noticeable.
We are in a spot that has a restaurant style table and chairs, but also has an easy chair, a love seat, and a coffee table. The restaurant table is low, and so are the chairs that go with it. That makes all of the seating the same height.
We've moved the tables together and are all sitting around them in one big group. We're talking about plans for things our families are going to do during the next few months, trying to coordinate a few dates so we can get together with the kids for something like a cook-out.
The girls all get up to visit the restroom. I am asked to go too. My friends and I don't usually do that. We consider ourselves "big girls" who can go to the restroom by ourselves. I figure there is something they want to talk about.
We go in, and there's no one else in there. One of my friends starts talking about a problem that is kind of embarrassing, that she feels the rest of us who are a little older and more experienced might be able to help with. Each of us relates an experience with that issue, and offers some advice. Our advice all sort of matches up. Even though it's not all the same, each of us says something that would work with what the others are offering.
After the discussion, three of us actually use the stalls. The one who doesn't heads back to the group. The other two finish before me and also head back. I hear more people come in. I come out of the stall, to see my boss from work and a few of her friends looking at me. I had not seen them in the building prior to the trip to the restroom, but they tell me they have been here the whole time, and have been watching for the opportunity to get me alone.
I try to leave the restroom, and the friend who is a police officer grabs me by the arm. I try to pull out of her grip and she moves with my motion, slamming me up against the door. She leans back then, and throws me halfway across the room. Immediately, someone else grabs my arms, pulls them behind my back, and turns me over onto my belly. I can smell pee and chemicals on the floor. I try not to let my face touch it, but someone shoves the back of my head so that my cheek is right on the drain.
I feel a foot slam into my ribs. I can hear my boss yelling obscenities, and then something hits me in the back. I start randomly kicking my feet in as many directions as I can, and find something solid but soft. The hands on my arms let go, and someone falls on my legs, then slides off between them. I turn at the waist to try to get up, but my ribs hurt really bad. At the same time, a fist slams into my face. I pull the leg up on the side where the ribs aren't hurt, and kick the woman on the floor behind me right in the face. It turns out to be the cop.
My boss stomps a foot at my hand, which is on the floor next to her. She misses and hits my wrist. She loses her balance, and I try to scramble away from her. Instead, she regains her balance and kicks me in the ribs again. At the same time, someone else kicks me in the back.
I back up against the divider between two stalls. Someone has a grip on my hair, and pulls me up. I swing wildly at the person, who is off to my left, but instead of hitting her, I end up hitting the door of a stall. My boss drives both of her fists into my gut like a boxer, and I double over and fall to my knees. She begins pounding on my back. Her friends are kicking and punching me too. There are at least four people beating on me. The pain is terrible.
I grab someone's ankle and pull, and hear someone go down with a thud. I scramble out that direction and head for the exit. The group tries to grab me and I kick at them. I open the exit door and crawl out where people can see me. No one is looking at the restroom.
My boss grabs my ankle and tries to drag me back in. I kick her in the jaw, and she falls backward, ripping the seam of my pants and taking my shoe. I see one of her teeth hit the floor. I crawl away from the door, yelling for help, but the music is too loud.
A few patrons finally do see me, but they don't do anything. They just keep eating. They have sympathetic looks on their faces, but I know that they are worried that if they get up, they'll lose their table to another group. I try to get the attention of my friends, but I'm too far away, and they're all talking to each other.
My boss and her friends come out of the restroom. They give me angry looks, but don't do anything because people can see. The patrons who noticed me get knowing looks on their faces, and one of them whispers to the patrons at the next table over. They look, and nod. Someone asks if I am ok. I say I probably need an ambulance. They all agree that yes, I should call an ambulance. No one gets up to help me, but I don't feel bad about it because I know that this is just the way things are handled at this place.
I can see the bartender watching. He is basically just making sure nothing happens out here where the patrons have to see it. He wants no drama in his place. He is also not calling anyone.
I crawl past the first two tables, to where my friends can see me. My boss is following me with a menacing look, but hanging back so that it's not obvious. I try to yell for my friends, but my chest is so sore that I can't get a deep breath. Finally, one of the guys sees me. He nudges my husband, and they get up and run to where I am. The two of them pick me up and carry me over to the love seat, where the group asks me what happened.
I tell the whole thing, explaining that the only people in the restroom were my boss and her friends, but I couldn't see which of them was hitting me at any given time except for a few of the blows dealt by my boss. My friends decide that we need to call the police.
When the police arrive, they take a statement from me, and tell me they're going to help, but then they head over to the bar and start drinking instead. Seeing their uninvolvement, my boss casually walks over to the group and starts spitting on me. When my friends try to block her, she spits over and around them. A couple of friends throw things at her, both of which hit her in the face and make a mess on her shirt. She takes a moment to grab napkins and try to clean herself, and my friends try to get me out of the building.
The door to the building is locked, and we can't get out. My ribs and back are hurting really badly, and standing makes them worse, so my husband picks me up to carry me. I wrap my arms around him and try to hold on, but using those muscles is really painful. He tells me he's got me. At the same time, my boss comes around the side, grabs my arm, and gives it a good yank. I feel myself almost fall. Another of my friends turns around and punches her in the face, and she backs off for a moment.
Her friends aren't helping, but they're watching. I can see them over by the restroom. She yells for them, and they start to come over. My friends yell to the police, "Why aren't you doing anything?" The police, who have turned toward us and have been watching, write a few things down in a notebook, and then just sit there. I realize they're documenting everything that is happening, and tell my friends to not hit back. Instead, when my boss reaches for me again, I yell at her to stop and smack her hand away. She looks offended and indignant, and reaches again, as if to slap me in the face. I again slap her hand out of the way. The bartender yells my name and says no fighting. I see the cops write that down.
I hear an ambulance arrive outside, and realize that one of my friends has called for medical help. I tell everyone, "when the EMS opens the door to come in, we need to go out and shut it. That way, she'll be locked in here, and we can escape."
The door opens, and I see people in scrubs. They burst into the building with a gurney, pushing past us. My husband puts me on the gurney. One friend tells one of the EMTs that she thinks my ribs are broken on the left side. Another is describing the assault to another EMT. While the door is still open and everyone is distracted, another friend of mine shoves my boss outside and slams it in her face. I can hear her pounding to get back in, but the friend is leaning on it. At that moment, the cops get up and arrest the bartender. They ignore my boss's friends.
One of the EMTs begins taking my vital signs. A cuff is wrapped around my arm to get my blood pressure, and a thermometer is placed in my mouth. I see the door start to open, despite my friend's efforts, and my boss tries to come back inside. When that happens, one of the cops breaks away from the arrest of the bartender, runs over to the door, and slaps handcuffs on my boss. He steps outside with her, and I can hear him reading her rights. She is yelling back at him that it's my fault for being there, not knowing my place, and expecting to not get kicked around.
I hear one of the EMTs tell my husband, "Your wife's blood pressure is really high." I think, that can't be right. I have abnormally low blood pressure. It's always been that way. I turn to say so to the EMT, when I feel something jab me in the ribs.
This is when I woke. The jab hurt so bad that it jolted me out of the dream.
Oddly, I am in a severe amount of pain this morning. My ribs really do hurt like they're broken on the left side, where I was kicked in the dream. My back is killing me. It feels like if I could just pop it, it would feel better, but twisting and stretching (or even taking a deep breath in, or breathing out too far) hurt my ribs, right under my left breast. I've been a little sore for a few days after having slept wrong, but not like this. I really do feel like someone beat the crap out of me.
I know the dream was stress related, but I suspect that the pain existed prior to it and the stress manifested itself by creating that story in response.
I recognized the people in the dream. My friends were my real friends. My husband was himself, too. So was my boss. Her friends, though, were actually people who are with our company, most of whom have been in our store. One is a former manager. Two others are former district managers, only in the dream they were women, but in waking life they are men. The voice of the friend who is a cop was the voice of the human resources manager. I've never seen her, but I'm really familiar with that voice. My boss really does have a friend who is a cop, but she was not involved in the dream. The bartender was the current district manager.
The police in the dream weren't the local police, either. I know those guys. They come into the store all the time and get coffee and snacks (not donuts quite so often as you might think, but a LOT of coffee.) In the dream, the officer who initiated the arrest of the district manager, then broke off to arrest my boss, is the case worker handling my unsafe working conditions complaint to OSHA, and the retaliation complaint I had to file after my employer kept me off of the schedule for a couple of months following the inspection.
The company has been notified of the complaint, and my boss has been further retaliating by creating a hostile work environment. She has threatened me and is trying to push me out of my job. It's not a fabulous job, and if the job market were better, I'd just quit and go work somewhere else. However, I'm in an area with crazy high unemployment. I've been looking for a job for nearly three years, with no success. I have to have the paycheck, so I can't afford to leave or be fired, and my boss knows that.
Two days ago, the district manager let me know that the harassment would be condoned by the company, and I was "not permitted" to document and report it. I've let my case worker know what he said, and am waiting to find out what to do next. I may end up having to file yet another complaint. In the meantime, the harassment continues. I'm continuing to document and report, but trying to keep my boss from seeing me do it. This situation is really getting to me.
I dozed off again after that, but couldn't stay asleep. I kept having the feeling that something was in the room with me, as happens with Sleep Paralysis. When I started to dream again, it was a repeat of the one with something trying to drag me off of the bed and into the closet. I ended up dragging myself out of bed and downstairs for coffee.
I am so tired!
We're someplace that serves food and alcohol, and has music. I am not drinking alcohol, but I've had something to eat. There is a very laid back atmosphere here. Some groups are quieter, just talking and laughing, but others are louder and more noticeable.
We are in a spot that has a restaurant style table and chairs, but also has an easy chair, a love seat, and a coffee table. The restaurant table is low, and so are the chairs that go with it. That makes all of the seating the same height.
We've moved the tables together and are all sitting around them in one big group. We're talking about plans for things our families are going to do during the next few months, trying to coordinate a few dates so we can get together with the kids for something like a cook-out.
The girls all get up to visit the restroom. I am asked to go too. My friends and I don't usually do that. We consider ourselves "big girls" who can go to the restroom by ourselves. I figure there is something they want to talk about.
We go in, and there's no one else in there. One of my friends starts talking about a problem that is kind of embarrassing, that she feels the rest of us who are a little older and more experienced might be able to help with. Each of us relates an experience with that issue, and offers some advice. Our advice all sort of matches up. Even though it's not all the same, each of us says something that would work with what the others are offering.
After the discussion, three of us actually use the stalls. The one who doesn't heads back to the group. The other two finish before me and also head back. I hear more people come in. I come out of the stall, to see my boss from work and a few of her friends looking at me. I had not seen them in the building prior to the trip to the restroom, but they tell me they have been here the whole time, and have been watching for the opportunity to get me alone.
I try to leave the restroom, and the friend who is a police officer grabs me by the arm. I try to pull out of her grip and she moves with my motion, slamming me up against the door. She leans back then, and throws me halfway across the room. Immediately, someone else grabs my arms, pulls them behind my back, and turns me over onto my belly. I can smell pee and chemicals on the floor. I try not to let my face touch it, but someone shoves the back of my head so that my cheek is right on the drain.
I feel a foot slam into my ribs. I can hear my boss yelling obscenities, and then something hits me in the back. I start randomly kicking my feet in as many directions as I can, and find something solid but soft. The hands on my arms let go, and someone falls on my legs, then slides off between them. I turn at the waist to try to get up, but my ribs hurt really bad. At the same time, a fist slams into my face. I pull the leg up on the side where the ribs aren't hurt, and kick the woman on the floor behind me right in the face. It turns out to be the cop.
My boss stomps a foot at my hand, which is on the floor next to her. She misses and hits my wrist. She loses her balance, and I try to scramble away from her. Instead, she regains her balance and kicks me in the ribs again. At the same time, someone else kicks me in the back.
I back up against the divider between two stalls. Someone has a grip on my hair, and pulls me up. I swing wildly at the person, who is off to my left, but instead of hitting her, I end up hitting the door of a stall. My boss drives both of her fists into my gut like a boxer, and I double over and fall to my knees. She begins pounding on my back. Her friends are kicking and punching me too. There are at least four people beating on me. The pain is terrible.
I grab someone's ankle and pull, and hear someone go down with a thud. I scramble out that direction and head for the exit. The group tries to grab me and I kick at them. I open the exit door and crawl out where people can see me. No one is looking at the restroom.
My boss grabs my ankle and tries to drag me back in. I kick her in the jaw, and she falls backward, ripping the seam of my pants and taking my shoe. I see one of her teeth hit the floor. I crawl away from the door, yelling for help, but the music is too loud.
A few patrons finally do see me, but they don't do anything. They just keep eating. They have sympathetic looks on their faces, but I know that they are worried that if they get up, they'll lose their table to another group. I try to get the attention of my friends, but I'm too far away, and they're all talking to each other.
My boss and her friends come out of the restroom. They give me angry looks, but don't do anything because people can see. The patrons who noticed me get knowing looks on their faces, and one of them whispers to the patrons at the next table over. They look, and nod. Someone asks if I am ok. I say I probably need an ambulance. They all agree that yes, I should call an ambulance. No one gets up to help me, but I don't feel bad about it because I know that this is just the way things are handled at this place.
I can see the bartender watching. He is basically just making sure nothing happens out here where the patrons have to see it. He wants no drama in his place. He is also not calling anyone.
I crawl past the first two tables, to where my friends can see me. My boss is following me with a menacing look, but hanging back so that it's not obvious. I try to yell for my friends, but my chest is so sore that I can't get a deep breath. Finally, one of the guys sees me. He nudges my husband, and they get up and run to where I am. The two of them pick me up and carry me over to the love seat, where the group asks me what happened.
I tell the whole thing, explaining that the only people in the restroom were my boss and her friends, but I couldn't see which of them was hitting me at any given time except for a few of the blows dealt by my boss. My friends decide that we need to call the police.
When the police arrive, they take a statement from me, and tell me they're going to help, but then they head over to the bar and start drinking instead. Seeing their uninvolvement, my boss casually walks over to the group and starts spitting on me. When my friends try to block her, she spits over and around them. A couple of friends throw things at her, both of which hit her in the face and make a mess on her shirt. She takes a moment to grab napkins and try to clean herself, and my friends try to get me out of the building.
The door to the building is locked, and we can't get out. My ribs and back are hurting really badly, and standing makes them worse, so my husband picks me up to carry me. I wrap my arms around him and try to hold on, but using those muscles is really painful. He tells me he's got me. At the same time, my boss comes around the side, grabs my arm, and gives it a good yank. I feel myself almost fall. Another of my friends turns around and punches her in the face, and she backs off for a moment.
Her friends aren't helping, but they're watching. I can see them over by the restroom. She yells for them, and they start to come over. My friends yell to the police, "Why aren't you doing anything?" The police, who have turned toward us and have been watching, write a few things down in a notebook, and then just sit there. I realize they're documenting everything that is happening, and tell my friends to not hit back. Instead, when my boss reaches for me again, I yell at her to stop and smack her hand away. She looks offended and indignant, and reaches again, as if to slap me in the face. I again slap her hand out of the way. The bartender yells my name and says no fighting. I see the cops write that down.
I hear an ambulance arrive outside, and realize that one of my friends has called for medical help. I tell everyone, "when the EMS opens the door to come in, we need to go out and shut it. That way, she'll be locked in here, and we can escape."
The door opens, and I see people in scrubs. They burst into the building with a gurney, pushing past us. My husband puts me on the gurney. One friend tells one of the EMTs that she thinks my ribs are broken on the left side. Another is describing the assault to another EMT. While the door is still open and everyone is distracted, another friend of mine shoves my boss outside and slams it in her face. I can hear her pounding to get back in, but the friend is leaning on it. At that moment, the cops get up and arrest the bartender. They ignore my boss's friends.
One of the EMTs begins taking my vital signs. A cuff is wrapped around my arm to get my blood pressure, and a thermometer is placed in my mouth. I see the door start to open, despite my friend's efforts, and my boss tries to come back inside. When that happens, one of the cops breaks away from the arrest of the bartender, runs over to the door, and slaps handcuffs on my boss. He steps outside with her, and I can hear him reading her rights. She is yelling back at him that it's my fault for being there, not knowing my place, and expecting to not get kicked around.
I hear one of the EMTs tell my husband, "Your wife's blood pressure is really high." I think, that can't be right. I have abnormally low blood pressure. It's always been that way. I turn to say so to the EMT, when I feel something jab me in the ribs.
This is when I woke. The jab hurt so bad that it jolted me out of the dream.
Oddly, I am in a severe amount of pain this morning. My ribs really do hurt like they're broken on the left side, where I was kicked in the dream. My back is killing me. It feels like if I could just pop it, it would feel better, but twisting and stretching (or even taking a deep breath in, or breathing out too far) hurt my ribs, right under my left breast. I've been a little sore for a few days after having slept wrong, but not like this. I really do feel like someone beat the crap out of me.
I know the dream was stress related, but I suspect that the pain existed prior to it and the stress manifested itself by creating that story in response.
I recognized the people in the dream. My friends were my real friends. My husband was himself, too. So was my boss. Her friends, though, were actually people who are with our company, most of whom have been in our store. One is a former manager. Two others are former district managers, only in the dream they were women, but in waking life they are men. The voice of the friend who is a cop was the voice of the human resources manager. I've never seen her, but I'm really familiar with that voice. My boss really does have a friend who is a cop, but she was not involved in the dream. The bartender was the current district manager.
The police in the dream weren't the local police, either. I know those guys. They come into the store all the time and get coffee and snacks (not donuts quite so often as you might think, but a LOT of coffee.) In the dream, the officer who initiated the arrest of the district manager, then broke off to arrest my boss, is the case worker handling my unsafe working conditions complaint to OSHA, and the retaliation complaint I had to file after my employer kept me off of the schedule for a couple of months following the inspection.
The company has been notified of the complaint, and my boss has been further retaliating by creating a hostile work environment. She has threatened me and is trying to push me out of my job. It's not a fabulous job, and if the job market were better, I'd just quit and go work somewhere else. However, I'm in an area with crazy high unemployment. I've been looking for a job for nearly three years, with no success. I have to have the paycheck, so I can't afford to leave or be fired, and my boss knows that.
Two days ago, the district manager let me know that the harassment would be condoned by the company, and I was "not permitted" to document and report it. I've let my case worker know what he said, and am waiting to find out what to do next. I may end up having to file yet another complaint. In the meantime, the harassment continues. I'm continuing to document and report, but trying to keep my boss from seeing me do it. This situation is really getting to me.
I dozed off again after that, but couldn't stay asleep. I kept having the feeling that something was in the room with me, as happens with Sleep Paralysis. When I started to dream again, it was a repeat of the one with something trying to drag me off of the bed and into the closet. I ended up dragging myself out of bed and downstairs for coffee.
I am so tired!
Conspiracy to psych out
I'm wandering through a mall. It has a mix of stores including some from the mall I used to shop in as a teen, and the mall my kids like to shop in now. I'm looking for something, and I have money to buy it, but not much extra. I know that I have somewhere else I have to go next, and that's going to take up the bulk of the rest of my day, but right now, the shopping is more important.
My reason for shopping is kind of vague. I'm not looking for a specific thing. I'm here because I "have to" buy something for myself. It feels like fact of the source from which the money came to me somehow makes it by definition something between a gift and "found money," but I also have a sense of having earned it. There was definitely some reason why it was owed to me.
I have a sense of responsibility and burden related to how the money is to be spent. It has to be something I'll want and like, but not something totally frivolous. I'm trying to also make sure it is something that won't get used up, expire, or quickly become obsolete. It feels as though failing to meet those conditions will mean I have wasted the money.
The feeling is partly related to the fact that it is being spent on me and not members of my family, on whom I am usually focused when shopping. It's a rare thing for me to buy something just for myself, and when I do, it's usually because there is a practical and necessary reason why I am buying it (like work clothing or allergy medicine) and not just because it's something I really want.
The feeling I have is also partly related to how the money ended up being owed to me. I have the sense that personal sacrifice was wrongfully forced upon me by the source of the money. That personal sacrifice cost my family things we needed. The source "gifted" me to avoid some being made to pay me more. I had accepted the amount to avoid the risk of getting nothing. Now, I feel kind of pinched, like I have less than I need, and need to make every penny count.
Everywhere I go in the mall, people are watching me. I feel like they are judging everything I look at, weighing whether or not I should even be considering this or that item. I have the sense of these people thinking I don't deserve to use any of this money on myself, even though I am supposed to do exactly that. At the same time, I have the sense of them keeping track, with the intent to report back to the source from which the money came, as if a wrongful purchase would justify the source taking it back.. That would not be the case, but I'm not sure the source wouldn't try, and having to deal with that would create a huge inconvenience for my family.
I feel upset about being watched. I feel stalked and personally invaded. Most people are trying to be subtle about it, making sure to appear to be checking out something near me if I actually look in their direction, but there are a few who are blatantly following me around and staring.
I can't even interact with the people around me. I compliment a woman's manicure, and instead of thanking me, she tells me I don't need a manicure. I had no intention of seeking one, nor would I want one. I was just enjoying the sight of hers, which was pretty cool. I have no use for a manicure. However, I'm really put off that she said that to me. It felt like she was telling me that I'm beneath her, that I'm not quality enough to qualify for a manicure. Even though I am uninterested in my fingernails beyond utility and prevention of injury to my fingers, I'm offended that this woman feels entitled to give or deny permission for me to have a manicure, and also that she jumped to the conclusion that I even wanted one. First, it's my fingers and my money, and therefore my decision. Second, a stranger has no right to make assumptions about my personal choices like that.
Another bystander won't let me pass when I want to go down one aisle at a shop and ask him to please excuse me. I'm told, "you don't need to look down there. There's nothing you should be interested in." The aisle has craft supplies that I'm considering using to make things I can sell. The man says, "No one wants to buy your doilies," but that's not the image I was thinking about. I have patterns for jewelry and other accessories, including hats, gloves, and bags. Again, I'm offended that he feels entitled to make that determination for me, but because everyone is watching, I'm nervous about any kind of a confrontation.
I'm also offended at his attitude toward my crafts. I've sold them before. I have had a decent response at small flea markets. People do like them. I just don't have the time to make that a regular activity because I work full time. Regardless, a complete stranger has no way of assessing the desirability of my work, and no business critiquing it unseen or making assumptions about the potential success of a venture. Even if he chooses to do that, he has no right to enforce his opinion of me upon me this way. I don't feel obligated to tolerate what he has said.
Looking around, I see a lady speaking into what looks like either an old cell phone or a two-way transmitter. She's staring at me, and speaking quietly, but I catch a couple of words and phrases: "Willful" and "refusing to be shaped" and "seems to feel entitled to decide for herself." I'm pretty sure she's talking about me, but I feel like some kind of a paranoid egotist for the thought. Then she says my full name into the phone. Of all things, this makes me feel very relieved, because I was beginning to feel nuts for believing this was all about me. Now, I feel justified in resisting it because it's real.
I levitate into the air and fly over the jerk who won't let me get my crafts. Lowering myself down on the other side as he stares at me with his jaw dropped, I assess the benefits and drawbacks of this potential purchase. I still have several months of visitation with my stepdaughter during which I'll be riding back and forth in the car to her place twice a month for an hour each way. I could get a lot of crafting done during this time.
I could spend about 10% of the money, buy the supplies, and set up a shop online that would only allow the amount of product I've added to it to be ordered, so I couldn't get behind. I take out a little notebook and write down the idea, the cost of the supplies, and give it a rating. As I'm doing this, everyone in the store begins rapidly moving toward me in an aggressive manner (except the cashiers, who appear oblivious of the whole thing.) The woman with the communication device is shouting into it, something about broken rules, decisions, and my not being boxed in. People are yelling at me, "You can't do that! You're not allowed!" A woman from the organization from which the money came demands my notebook, yelling that I don't have the right to keep notes, and if I'm going to make any claims, I have to do it all from memory.
Just as the other patrons approach, I fly up and away from the spot. I move on to another shop which has household items that I feel would reduce the amount of time I spend doing housework, while simultaneously increasing the tidiness of my family's apartment. As I near the store, I notice there is a barricade of people blocking my path, standing with their arms linked and angry expressions on their faces. They tell me I can't go in there.
I move around them, open a hole in the wall, and enter the store. Then, I pull down the mesh door that keeps patrons out after the store is closed. As I shop the store, the people outside of it scream at me and pound at the mesh door. I concentrate for a moment on repelling them from the door. It crackles, and then suddenly they are all zapped like they had touched an electric fence. Everyone jumps back, surprised into silence.
Among the crowd, I see three people I recognize as part of the organization that is the source of the money. I realize they are manipulating the crowd. I point at them, and shout "LIGHT!" Each of them is now surrounded by brightness as if shined upon by a spotlight. Then, I shout, "TRUTH!" All three people begin to look uncomfortable, as if trying really hard not to lose control of a bodily function, while simultaneously knowing that relief is not readily available. Then, they look like they are going to vomit. People start backing away from them. I walk away, and begin assessing the possibilities for the items available in the store, making notes in my little notebook and writing down prices and ratings of benefit to my family. These are the pros and cons of the decision (as in, pro - it will tidy up the clutter in the bathroom; con - it costs 5% of my little budget.)
I can hear one voice telling everyone in the crowd what led to my receiving the money I'm here to spend. It isn't the voice of one of them, but another, bigger voice which seems to be coming over the loudspeakers. I stop shopping and look out the door to see everyone backing away from the three. The faces in the crowd look appalled and outraged, and some of them begin muttering and pointing. The three look nervous, then scared. One of them starts shouting counter-accusations, but no one listens. People in the crowd start throwing things at the three. Some of the items are actually heavy and solid enough to hurt.
Righteously indignant as I am about what originally happened and about the conspiracy that followed, I know this is wrong and am highly averse to letting it happen. As soon as I desire to exit the store and interfere, the mesh door rises back into the wall on its own. I bellow "STOP!" at the crowd, and they do. Everyone looks at me. I tell them that what happened has all ready been taken care of, that the organization has settled with me, and I accepted the settlement. The debt is paid, and we're even. No further action is necessary. I ask that everyone just let me shop in peace. Even though I still feel anger over the incident pulling at my heart, I know it's wrong to wish harm upon someone who wronged me after penance has been done for the wrong, and it's not these people's battle to fight, anyway. Getting them involved would be dishonest and manipulative of me, and mean both to her and them, because she would be unjustly harmed, and they would be guilty of that harm.
I see a sense of letdown settle into the crowd, and they begin to disperse, going into other stores and wandering along the hallway of the mall. The two men sort of back off and fade into the crowd. The woman of the three tries approaching some of the wandering shoppers, inviting them to "hang out" and shop together. They blow her off in no uncertain terms, some of them demonstrating disgust, others anger, and still others a simple lack of trust. She seems surprised by this, and I realize that until this moment, she's never not had a rapport with the local public and she doesn't know how to handle it. There's nothing I can do to fix that. She showed them a false face and now they know differently. The only one who can repair that bridge is her.
She glares fiercely at me. Her face looks really creepy. I almost expect her to bite me. Instead, she points a finger and wails, "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!" She begins cussing me out, claiming that I had no right to buck her authority and protect myself from her. She shouts that I'd better watch my step, because she'll be waiting for an opportunity to get me back for this. I don't feel intimidated, but I'm kind of miffed that she feels entitled to any authority over any aspect of my personal well-being. She can be in charge of that which is her territory all she wants, but I belong to myself, and I have the right to be unharmed.
Because of the way the money came to me, I am no longer involved with that which is her territory. I'm not required to have anything to do with her, and I'm not required to permit her any involvement in or access to knowledge of my existence. If she attempts to enforce upon me even the least bit of exposure to her, I can file charges and she will be in trouble. I let her rant for a moment, then smile and tell her, "That's really not your call."
This infuriates her so much that she totally loses control. She starts grabbing the items on the floor around her and flinging them at me. Nothing hits, but other people notice what she is doing. The lady with the communication device starts speaking into it again. The angry woman runs out of things to throw. She looks flummoxed for a moment, then reaches into the back of her pants, pulls out a huge turd, and throws that directly at me. I hold up a hand and think about pushing it away. It flies up into the air, hits the ceiling, and sticks.
Two mall security guards arrive and tell the woman she has to leave. They are accompanied by two higher-ups in the organization from which I received the money. The higher-ups aren't directly requesting anything, but they do identify the woman for the guards. They walk away. In the crowd, I can see her two compatriots trying to look uninvolved. She notices them, and says, "I'm with them! You can't make me leave because I'm with them!" The guards ask the men, and the men tell the guards that they don't have anything to do with her. They basically disown her to keep from being thrown out with her.
She tells the guards she has the right to be here, and that I'm the one who should be thrown out because I've disrupted the whole mall by being here when I wasn't welcome. The lady with the communication device, which I can now see is some kind of smart phone with what looks like a mini-hard drive on the back of it, tells the guards that the disruption was caused by manipulative lies fed to the shoppers by the organization, not by my presence. She states that the woman had become violent and was throwing things at me. She points out the things on the ground around me and says that the woman threw all of them.
The woman says there is no proof, because there is no video. She tells the guard that I'm covered in feces and I'm a health hazard. The lack of feces upon my person is clearly visible, and the guard gives her a wary, concerned look you usually see given to people who are starting to sound crazy. At that moment, the poop on the ceiling falls on her head. It runs down her hair onto her clothes. The lady with the smart phone tells the guards that the woman had thrown that at me, too.
The guards inform the poop covered woman that they now cannot believe anything she says. They pull out what look like a couple of those extended reach grabbing devices used by short people to get things off of high shelves, only these are metal, and the grabber at the end looks like a handcuff. They quickly snap these onto her wrists, and step apart. Keeping her at arms length with her hands out from her body, they march her toward the mall exit.
Finally, I have what I want. She is not going to bother me any more. No one is paying any attention to me. I am free to decide how to best invest the money I've received, and then I can get on with my everyday stuff. I turn to go back into the household goods store. Inside the store is my Grandma. She's going to help me shop. I haven't seen her in years, and I'm so happy to see her I run up and give her a huge hug.
I'm so relieved for this to be over that I almost start crying, but Grandma reminds me that we have things to do, so instead I turn to look with her at items on the shelves. There are items for storage. I am worrying over whether to get a set with several different sizes, or a set that has several bigger sizes but less of a variety. It is also a few dollars less than the other, because it's not brand name. Grandma reminds me of one of her old sayings, "That which holds a lot will also hold a little." Knowing she is right, I write down the price and benefits of the bigger items.
I nearly burst into tears when I woke from this one. The reason I haven't seen Grandma in years is because she died in 1994. She was a huge guiding influence in my life over many things, including the aspects of my attitude that would lead me to do something like telling the crowd in the dream to stop attacking the people who had hurt me, because that situation was all ready over. Grandma did not have a vengeful bone in her entire body. She was a very caring and compassionate woman who had an aversion to unnecessary drama, but sought to heal the hurts of the people around her. To this day, I often make decisions based on the thought of "What Would Grandma Do?"
This dream, I think, was based on a specific situation I'm going through in waking life. A few months ago, I was injured at work.. It was a life-threatening injury, but one with a fairly quick recovery. I was given permission from a doctor to return to work, but with a restriction that my employer refused to accept, so I was put on a temporary leave until the restriction expired. I filed a complaint with OSHA while receiving treatment for the injury during that time.
OSHA investigated and cited my employer for two serious violations, and levied a fine for each. The next day, my employer changed the requirements for my return to work, and refused to let me use earned vacation hours for my time off. I fulfilled the new requirements, but was not returned to work. Instead, my employer changed the requirements again. This continued for two months. During the first month, my family ran through our small savings, and I had to apply for government assistance, including unemployment.
During the second month, I realized what my employer was doing, and filed a retaliation complaint with the labor board After my complaint had been initiated, my employer attempted to prevent me from receiving unemployment by claiming that I was on voluntary leave due to an illness. I had to write to my case worker explaining what was going on, and it was ultimately the case worker's choice to award me unemployment that got me approved to return to work. Then, the company used my originally doctor-approved return to work date to keep me from receiving Worker's Compensation for any of the time I'd been kept off of work following my injury. The industrial commission found in my favor for the medical bills, but in the company's favor for the lost time.
It is the combination of those two communications, the choice to alter my return to work requirements, and the choice to withhold my vacation hours during my absence that are cited in my retaliation complaint. My labor case worker has assessed an amount owed totaling what I would have earned between the doctor-approved return to work date and the date I actually was put back on the schedule. My employer can choose to pay the amount, offer a smaller settlement, or fight the claim.
The case worker has advised me that most employers offer a settlement, and that I'll get paid much sooner if I accept it. Given my situation, if they offer a reasonable settlement, I'll take it. I'll have to pay the state's portion of the unemployment I received back to the state (not because the state will make me, but because it's the right thing to do) but by my definition of reasonable, I should be left with a full month's worth of pay after doing that.
In the meantime, I'm back to work for the same boss who allowed the conditions which injured me. The company was aware of the existence of the conditions, having been informed of them repeatedly during the past 5 years. The boss basically said that she didn't have to follow OSHA regulations because of the size of the building, a ridiculous statement.
She is furious with me for having filed a complaint for the dangerous working conditions. I am now being subjected to a hostile work environment. I think that environment, and my concerns about reaching a settlement with the company, are what this dream was about. I think the shoppers represent my coworkers and people from the neighborhood who shop at my workplace. I think the shopping represents my boss's efforts to get back at me for my complaint, my efforts to defend myself, and my concerns about whether or not I will even receive anything in response to the complaint.
My boss waits until we are alone and off camera and makes threats. She has told me that she's going to "get me on something" and as soon as she gets an opportunity, I'm "out of here." She gives me the hardest jobs we have, and I am the only employee not permitted breaks. I even get the third degree for having to use the restroom or needing to have anything to drink during a 9-hour shift. I more than half expect her to make up an excuse to fire me. I think the loudspeaker portion of the dream is my recent decision that if she does, I'm going to the local press with my story.
My boss is trying to use psychological abuse to psych me out and make me screw up. She messes with the area I'm assigned to work in so that things are out of place and conditions are in place to create messes for me to clean up (like propping breakable containers of liquid overhead where they'll fall when I touch the unstable shelves they are on). She sends me away from what I've been told to work on, to go do something else momentarily, and rearranges my stuff so that it's just disorganized enough to slow me down a bit when I return. This has included putting bills in the wrong slots in my register so that I have trouble making change for customers.
She has given me orders and then yelled at me for following them, even going so far as to threaten to "write me up" for doing exactly what I was told moments earlier. However, she refuses to write down what she wants me to do.
She has said things to my customers (who are also my neighbors) about me, and had friends of hers come into our store and give me a rough time at the cash register. She has brought things she knows I'm allergic to into the store in order to cause irritation. She has lied to my co-workers about me. She spends the day periodically stopping her activities to stand and glare at me as if I've just done or said something wrong. She has taken my paperwork so that I can't keep track of what I'm doing.
She makes a point to give derogatory, condescending, or insulting replies to things I say, even when I am not talking to her. Often, these are statements designed to insinuate that I am challenging her authority when nothing I've said indicates that, such as replying to an "ok, got it" (an acknowledgment that I comprehend the meaning of an order or other statement given to me) with a comment like, "Well I HOPE that's ok with you. It better be, because I'm in charge" as if I'd offered approval instead of confirmation.
If I have a question or have to inform her that a customer wants to speak to her, she ignores me. I can stand two feet away and say her name loudly, and she will pretend she did not hear. She's not very good at that. She has a visible "flinching" kind of response to my voice, in which she starts to turn in my direction but checks herself before she thinks she's given away that she's heard me. If I repeat the request or further attempt to get her attention, she'll busy herself to appear distracted.
Upon my third attempt, she will strike up a random, frivolous conversation with another nearby person in order to avoid answering me. Only when I go back and tell the customer that my boss is deliberately ignoring me does she acknowledge that she hears me, and of course she yells at me for saying that and tells me she didn't hear me before because she was "in a conversation." I have had several customers see this act, offer sympathy, and tell me they are surprised that she does not realize how transparent that behavior is.
She has also given me "orders" related to my private life (like where to shop and what to buy,) and has taken personal offense when I refused to follow them.
The two creepiest things she's done so far are the aforementioned staring, and the habit of only coming to my cash register when making purchases at our store on her way out or at lunch. She will wait in my line, even when the other working cashier is unoccupied, until it's blatantly and openly awkward for her to do so. She also crowds me behind the counter to do this, insisting on standing inches away from me. If I move away, she steps closer until there is no place further for me to move. This week, she's had me so creeped out that I am making mistakes at the register.
I've been documenting the harassment in a cheap little spiral notebook I keep in my pocket. She is angry about the notebook and has complained to her superior. She made sure I overheard her telling the co-manager (our P.C. term for assistant manager) that she was bringing him in to "discuss" it with me, meaning that they are going to badger me about it. I've contacted the human resources department over the harassment, but they have been no help. In fact, everything I discussed with H.R. was repeated back to my boss, so now she knows my complaints.
Everything that I've written here has been documented in detail, but I cannot share the details here at this time. However, I have shared all of that documentation with my case worker at the labor board. I do have hope that I will receive help with this situation from there. My biggest hope is that the company will transfer her to another store so she'll stop harassing me, and that they'll offer me enough of a settlement that I can at least undo the financial damage that two months of missed work did to my household. If I get enough, the crafting idea may not be such a bad thing. I make some pretty cool stuff. Maybe I will try to sell some of it on the side for extra cash.
In the meantime, the poop-throwing thing from the dream, I think is actually related to recent events. While I was gone, she told my neighbors who shop at that store that I had taken leave to recover from my injury. I've had to explain to a lot of them what really happened. Several are offended that she lied to them, and most are outraged at the treatment I received. She doesn't understand why they are less friendly with her than they used to be, and she's pissed off that they seem more friendly with me than they used to be. Her response to that has been behavior that has proved to be kind of off-putting to the people she's trying to persuade. Although the situation has been highly stressful to me, in the end, I do feel like I'm having a battle of wits with an unarmed person, and in the end I know that this is all temporary. I will survive it, and I will move on (we're leaving the area when the school year ends, hence the "someplace else to go" feeling in the dream) without having been defined by the attitude of a power-happy big fish in a little pond.
My reason for shopping is kind of vague. I'm not looking for a specific thing. I'm here because I "have to" buy something for myself. It feels like fact of the source from which the money came to me somehow makes it by definition something between a gift and "found money," but I also have a sense of having earned it. There was definitely some reason why it was owed to me.
I have a sense of responsibility and burden related to how the money is to be spent. It has to be something I'll want and like, but not something totally frivolous. I'm trying to also make sure it is something that won't get used up, expire, or quickly become obsolete. It feels as though failing to meet those conditions will mean I have wasted the money.
The feeling is partly related to the fact that it is being spent on me and not members of my family, on whom I am usually focused when shopping. It's a rare thing for me to buy something just for myself, and when I do, it's usually because there is a practical and necessary reason why I am buying it (like work clothing or allergy medicine) and not just because it's something I really want.
The feeling I have is also partly related to how the money ended up being owed to me. I have the sense that personal sacrifice was wrongfully forced upon me by the source of the money. That personal sacrifice cost my family things we needed. The source "gifted" me to avoid some being made to pay me more. I had accepted the amount to avoid the risk of getting nothing. Now, I feel kind of pinched, like I have less than I need, and need to make every penny count.
Everywhere I go in the mall, people are watching me. I feel like they are judging everything I look at, weighing whether or not I should even be considering this or that item. I have the sense of these people thinking I don't deserve to use any of this money on myself, even though I am supposed to do exactly that. At the same time, I have the sense of them keeping track, with the intent to report back to the source from which the money came, as if a wrongful purchase would justify the source taking it back.. That would not be the case, but I'm not sure the source wouldn't try, and having to deal with that would create a huge inconvenience for my family.
I feel upset about being watched. I feel stalked and personally invaded. Most people are trying to be subtle about it, making sure to appear to be checking out something near me if I actually look in their direction, but there are a few who are blatantly following me around and staring.
I can't even interact with the people around me. I compliment a woman's manicure, and instead of thanking me, she tells me I don't need a manicure. I had no intention of seeking one, nor would I want one. I was just enjoying the sight of hers, which was pretty cool. I have no use for a manicure. However, I'm really put off that she said that to me. It felt like she was telling me that I'm beneath her, that I'm not quality enough to qualify for a manicure. Even though I am uninterested in my fingernails beyond utility and prevention of injury to my fingers, I'm offended that this woman feels entitled to give or deny permission for me to have a manicure, and also that she jumped to the conclusion that I even wanted one. First, it's my fingers and my money, and therefore my decision. Second, a stranger has no right to make assumptions about my personal choices like that.
Another bystander won't let me pass when I want to go down one aisle at a shop and ask him to please excuse me. I'm told, "you don't need to look down there. There's nothing you should be interested in." The aisle has craft supplies that I'm considering using to make things I can sell. The man says, "No one wants to buy your doilies," but that's not the image I was thinking about. I have patterns for jewelry and other accessories, including hats, gloves, and bags. Again, I'm offended that he feels entitled to make that determination for me, but because everyone is watching, I'm nervous about any kind of a confrontation.
I'm also offended at his attitude toward my crafts. I've sold them before. I have had a decent response at small flea markets. People do like them. I just don't have the time to make that a regular activity because I work full time. Regardless, a complete stranger has no way of assessing the desirability of my work, and no business critiquing it unseen or making assumptions about the potential success of a venture. Even if he chooses to do that, he has no right to enforce his opinion of me upon me this way. I don't feel obligated to tolerate what he has said.
Looking around, I see a lady speaking into what looks like either an old cell phone or a two-way transmitter. She's staring at me, and speaking quietly, but I catch a couple of words and phrases: "Willful" and "refusing to be shaped" and "seems to feel entitled to decide for herself." I'm pretty sure she's talking about me, but I feel like some kind of a paranoid egotist for the thought. Then she says my full name into the phone. Of all things, this makes me feel very relieved, because I was beginning to feel nuts for believing this was all about me. Now, I feel justified in resisting it because it's real.
I levitate into the air and fly over the jerk who won't let me get my crafts. Lowering myself down on the other side as he stares at me with his jaw dropped, I assess the benefits and drawbacks of this potential purchase. I still have several months of visitation with my stepdaughter during which I'll be riding back and forth in the car to her place twice a month for an hour each way. I could get a lot of crafting done during this time.
I could spend about 10% of the money, buy the supplies, and set up a shop online that would only allow the amount of product I've added to it to be ordered, so I couldn't get behind. I take out a little notebook and write down the idea, the cost of the supplies, and give it a rating. As I'm doing this, everyone in the store begins rapidly moving toward me in an aggressive manner (except the cashiers, who appear oblivious of the whole thing.) The woman with the communication device is shouting into it, something about broken rules, decisions, and my not being boxed in. People are yelling at me, "You can't do that! You're not allowed!" A woman from the organization from which the money came demands my notebook, yelling that I don't have the right to keep notes, and if I'm going to make any claims, I have to do it all from memory.
Just as the other patrons approach, I fly up and away from the spot. I move on to another shop which has household items that I feel would reduce the amount of time I spend doing housework, while simultaneously increasing the tidiness of my family's apartment. As I near the store, I notice there is a barricade of people blocking my path, standing with their arms linked and angry expressions on their faces. They tell me I can't go in there.
I move around them, open a hole in the wall, and enter the store. Then, I pull down the mesh door that keeps patrons out after the store is closed. As I shop the store, the people outside of it scream at me and pound at the mesh door. I concentrate for a moment on repelling them from the door. It crackles, and then suddenly they are all zapped like they had touched an electric fence. Everyone jumps back, surprised into silence.
Among the crowd, I see three people I recognize as part of the organization that is the source of the money. I realize they are manipulating the crowd. I point at them, and shout "LIGHT!" Each of them is now surrounded by brightness as if shined upon by a spotlight. Then, I shout, "TRUTH!" All three people begin to look uncomfortable, as if trying really hard not to lose control of a bodily function, while simultaneously knowing that relief is not readily available. Then, they look like they are going to vomit. People start backing away from them. I walk away, and begin assessing the possibilities for the items available in the store, making notes in my little notebook and writing down prices and ratings of benefit to my family. These are the pros and cons of the decision (as in, pro - it will tidy up the clutter in the bathroom; con - it costs 5% of my little budget.)
I can hear one voice telling everyone in the crowd what led to my receiving the money I'm here to spend. It isn't the voice of one of them, but another, bigger voice which seems to be coming over the loudspeakers. I stop shopping and look out the door to see everyone backing away from the three. The faces in the crowd look appalled and outraged, and some of them begin muttering and pointing. The three look nervous, then scared. One of them starts shouting counter-accusations, but no one listens. People in the crowd start throwing things at the three. Some of the items are actually heavy and solid enough to hurt.
Righteously indignant as I am about what originally happened and about the conspiracy that followed, I know this is wrong and am highly averse to letting it happen. As soon as I desire to exit the store and interfere, the mesh door rises back into the wall on its own. I bellow "STOP!" at the crowd, and they do. Everyone looks at me. I tell them that what happened has all ready been taken care of, that the organization has settled with me, and I accepted the settlement. The debt is paid, and we're even. No further action is necessary. I ask that everyone just let me shop in peace. Even though I still feel anger over the incident pulling at my heart, I know it's wrong to wish harm upon someone who wronged me after penance has been done for the wrong, and it's not these people's battle to fight, anyway. Getting them involved would be dishonest and manipulative of me, and mean both to her and them, because she would be unjustly harmed, and they would be guilty of that harm.
I see a sense of letdown settle into the crowd, and they begin to disperse, going into other stores and wandering along the hallway of the mall. The two men sort of back off and fade into the crowd. The woman of the three tries approaching some of the wandering shoppers, inviting them to "hang out" and shop together. They blow her off in no uncertain terms, some of them demonstrating disgust, others anger, and still others a simple lack of trust. She seems surprised by this, and I realize that until this moment, she's never not had a rapport with the local public and she doesn't know how to handle it. There's nothing I can do to fix that. She showed them a false face and now they know differently. The only one who can repair that bridge is her.
She glares fiercely at me. Her face looks really creepy. I almost expect her to bite me. Instead, she points a finger and wails, "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!" She begins cussing me out, claiming that I had no right to buck her authority and protect myself from her. She shouts that I'd better watch my step, because she'll be waiting for an opportunity to get me back for this. I don't feel intimidated, but I'm kind of miffed that she feels entitled to any authority over any aspect of my personal well-being. She can be in charge of that which is her territory all she wants, but I belong to myself, and I have the right to be unharmed.
Because of the way the money came to me, I am no longer involved with that which is her territory. I'm not required to have anything to do with her, and I'm not required to permit her any involvement in or access to knowledge of my existence. If she attempts to enforce upon me even the least bit of exposure to her, I can file charges and she will be in trouble. I let her rant for a moment, then smile and tell her, "That's really not your call."
This infuriates her so much that she totally loses control. She starts grabbing the items on the floor around her and flinging them at me. Nothing hits, but other people notice what she is doing. The lady with the communication device starts speaking into it again. The angry woman runs out of things to throw. She looks flummoxed for a moment, then reaches into the back of her pants, pulls out a huge turd, and throws that directly at me. I hold up a hand and think about pushing it away. It flies up into the air, hits the ceiling, and sticks.
Two mall security guards arrive and tell the woman she has to leave. They are accompanied by two higher-ups in the organization from which I received the money. The higher-ups aren't directly requesting anything, but they do identify the woman for the guards. They walk away. In the crowd, I can see her two compatriots trying to look uninvolved. She notices them, and says, "I'm with them! You can't make me leave because I'm with them!" The guards ask the men, and the men tell the guards that they don't have anything to do with her. They basically disown her to keep from being thrown out with her.
She tells the guards she has the right to be here, and that I'm the one who should be thrown out because I've disrupted the whole mall by being here when I wasn't welcome. The lady with the communication device, which I can now see is some kind of smart phone with what looks like a mini-hard drive on the back of it, tells the guards that the disruption was caused by manipulative lies fed to the shoppers by the organization, not by my presence. She states that the woman had become violent and was throwing things at me. She points out the things on the ground around me and says that the woman threw all of them.
The woman says there is no proof, because there is no video. She tells the guard that I'm covered in feces and I'm a health hazard. The lack of feces upon my person is clearly visible, and the guard gives her a wary, concerned look you usually see given to people who are starting to sound crazy. At that moment, the poop on the ceiling falls on her head. It runs down her hair onto her clothes. The lady with the smart phone tells the guards that the woman had thrown that at me, too.
The guards inform the poop covered woman that they now cannot believe anything she says. They pull out what look like a couple of those extended reach grabbing devices used by short people to get things off of high shelves, only these are metal, and the grabber at the end looks like a handcuff. They quickly snap these onto her wrists, and step apart. Keeping her at arms length with her hands out from her body, they march her toward the mall exit.
Finally, I have what I want. She is not going to bother me any more. No one is paying any attention to me. I am free to decide how to best invest the money I've received, and then I can get on with my everyday stuff. I turn to go back into the household goods store. Inside the store is my Grandma. She's going to help me shop. I haven't seen her in years, and I'm so happy to see her I run up and give her a huge hug.
I'm so relieved for this to be over that I almost start crying, but Grandma reminds me that we have things to do, so instead I turn to look with her at items on the shelves. There are items for storage. I am worrying over whether to get a set with several different sizes, or a set that has several bigger sizes but less of a variety. It is also a few dollars less than the other, because it's not brand name. Grandma reminds me of one of her old sayings, "That which holds a lot will also hold a little." Knowing she is right, I write down the price and benefits of the bigger items.
I nearly burst into tears when I woke from this one. The reason I haven't seen Grandma in years is because she died in 1994. She was a huge guiding influence in my life over many things, including the aspects of my attitude that would lead me to do something like telling the crowd in the dream to stop attacking the people who had hurt me, because that situation was all ready over. Grandma did not have a vengeful bone in her entire body. She was a very caring and compassionate woman who had an aversion to unnecessary drama, but sought to heal the hurts of the people around her. To this day, I often make decisions based on the thought of "What Would Grandma Do?"
This dream, I think, was based on a specific situation I'm going through in waking life. A few months ago, I was injured at work.. It was a life-threatening injury, but one with a fairly quick recovery. I was given permission from a doctor to return to work, but with a restriction that my employer refused to accept, so I was put on a temporary leave until the restriction expired. I filed a complaint with OSHA while receiving treatment for the injury during that time.
OSHA investigated and cited my employer for two serious violations, and levied a fine for each. The next day, my employer changed the requirements for my return to work, and refused to let me use earned vacation hours for my time off. I fulfilled the new requirements, but was not returned to work. Instead, my employer changed the requirements again. This continued for two months. During the first month, my family ran through our small savings, and I had to apply for government assistance, including unemployment.
During the second month, I realized what my employer was doing, and filed a retaliation complaint with the labor board After my complaint had been initiated, my employer attempted to prevent me from receiving unemployment by claiming that I was on voluntary leave due to an illness. I had to write to my case worker explaining what was going on, and it was ultimately the case worker's choice to award me unemployment that got me approved to return to work. Then, the company used my originally doctor-approved return to work date to keep me from receiving Worker's Compensation for any of the time I'd been kept off of work following my injury. The industrial commission found in my favor for the medical bills, but in the company's favor for the lost time.
It is the combination of those two communications, the choice to alter my return to work requirements, and the choice to withhold my vacation hours during my absence that are cited in my retaliation complaint. My labor case worker has assessed an amount owed totaling what I would have earned between the doctor-approved return to work date and the date I actually was put back on the schedule. My employer can choose to pay the amount, offer a smaller settlement, or fight the claim.
The case worker has advised me that most employers offer a settlement, and that I'll get paid much sooner if I accept it. Given my situation, if they offer a reasonable settlement, I'll take it. I'll have to pay the state's portion of the unemployment I received back to the state (not because the state will make me, but because it's the right thing to do) but by my definition of reasonable, I should be left with a full month's worth of pay after doing that.
In the meantime, I'm back to work for the same boss who allowed the conditions which injured me. The company was aware of the existence of the conditions, having been informed of them repeatedly during the past 5 years. The boss basically said that she didn't have to follow OSHA regulations because of the size of the building, a ridiculous statement.
She is furious with me for having filed a complaint for the dangerous working conditions. I am now being subjected to a hostile work environment. I think that environment, and my concerns about reaching a settlement with the company, are what this dream was about. I think the shoppers represent my coworkers and people from the neighborhood who shop at my workplace. I think the shopping represents my boss's efforts to get back at me for my complaint, my efforts to defend myself, and my concerns about whether or not I will even receive anything in response to the complaint.
My boss waits until we are alone and off camera and makes threats. She has told me that she's going to "get me on something" and as soon as she gets an opportunity, I'm "out of here." She gives me the hardest jobs we have, and I am the only employee not permitted breaks. I even get the third degree for having to use the restroom or needing to have anything to drink during a 9-hour shift. I more than half expect her to make up an excuse to fire me. I think the loudspeaker portion of the dream is my recent decision that if she does, I'm going to the local press with my story.
My boss is trying to use psychological abuse to psych me out and make me screw up. She messes with the area I'm assigned to work in so that things are out of place and conditions are in place to create messes for me to clean up (like propping breakable containers of liquid overhead where they'll fall when I touch the unstable shelves they are on). She sends me away from what I've been told to work on, to go do something else momentarily, and rearranges my stuff so that it's just disorganized enough to slow me down a bit when I return. This has included putting bills in the wrong slots in my register so that I have trouble making change for customers.
She has given me orders and then yelled at me for following them, even going so far as to threaten to "write me up" for doing exactly what I was told moments earlier. However, she refuses to write down what she wants me to do.
She has said things to my customers (who are also my neighbors) about me, and had friends of hers come into our store and give me a rough time at the cash register. She has brought things she knows I'm allergic to into the store in order to cause irritation. She has lied to my co-workers about me. She spends the day periodically stopping her activities to stand and glare at me as if I've just done or said something wrong. She has taken my paperwork so that I can't keep track of what I'm doing.
She makes a point to give derogatory, condescending, or insulting replies to things I say, even when I am not talking to her. Often, these are statements designed to insinuate that I am challenging her authority when nothing I've said indicates that, such as replying to an "ok, got it" (an acknowledgment that I comprehend the meaning of an order or other statement given to me) with a comment like, "Well I HOPE that's ok with you. It better be, because I'm in charge" as if I'd offered approval instead of confirmation.
If I have a question or have to inform her that a customer wants to speak to her, she ignores me. I can stand two feet away and say her name loudly, and she will pretend she did not hear. She's not very good at that. She has a visible "flinching" kind of response to my voice, in which she starts to turn in my direction but checks herself before she thinks she's given away that she's heard me. If I repeat the request or further attempt to get her attention, she'll busy herself to appear distracted.
Upon my third attempt, she will strike up a random, frivolous conversation with another nearby person in order to avoid answering me. Only when I go back and tell the customer that my boss is deliberately ignoring me does she acknowledge that she hears me, and of course she yells at me for saying that and tells me she didn't hear me before because she was "in a conversation." I have had several customers see this act, offer sympathy, and tell me they are surprised that she does not realize how transparent that behavior is.
She has also given me "orders" related to my private life (like where to shop and what to buy,) and has taken personal offense when I refused to follow them.
The two creepiest things she's done so far are the aforementioned staring, and the habit of only coming to my cash register when making purchases at our store on her way out or at lunch. She will wait in my line, even when the other working cashier is unoccupied, until it's blatantly and openly awkward for her to do so. She also crowds me behind the counter to do this, insisting on standing inches away from me. If I move away, she steps closer until there is no place further for me to move. This week, she's had me so creeped out that I am making mistakes at the register.
I've been documenting the harassment in a cheap little spiral notebook I keep in my pocket. She is angry about the notebook and has complained to her superior. She made sure I overheard her telling the co-manager (our P.C. term for assistant manager) that she was bringing him in to "discuss" it with me, meaning that they are going to badger me about it. I've contacted the human resources department over the harassment, but they have been no help. In fact, everything I discussed with H.R. was repeated back to my boss, so now she knows my complaints.
Everything that I've written here has been documented in detail, but I cannot share the details here at this time. However, I have shared all of that documentation with my case worker at the labor board. I do have hope that I will receive help with this situation from there. My biggest hope is that the company will transfer her to another store so she'll stop harassing me, and that they'll offer me enough of a settlement that I can at least undo the financial damage that two months of missed work did to my household. If I get enough, the crafting idea may not be such a bad thing. I make some pretty cool stuff. Maybe I will try to sell some of it on the side for extra cash.
In the meantime, the poop-throwing thing from the dream, I think is actually related to recent events. While I was gone, she told my neighbors who shop at that store that I had taken leave to recover from my injury. I've had to explain to a lot of them what really happened. Several are offended that she lied to them, and most are outraged at the treatment I received. She doesn't understand why they are less friendly with her than they used to be, and she's pissed off that they seem more friendly with me than they used to be. Her response to that has been behavior that has proved to be kind of off-putting to the people she's trying to persuade. Although the situation has been highly stressful to me, in the end, I do feel like I'm having a battle of wits with an unarmed person, and in the end I know that this is all temporary. I will survive it, and I will move on (we're leaving the area when the school year ends, hence the "someplace else to go" feeling in the dream) without having been defined by the attitude of a power-happy big fish in a little pond.
Prison Escape
I'm in a truck that's normal sized, but souped up to do tricks like a monster truck. There is a battle taking place in an arena between myself and an authority figure who is chasing me. She is piloting a giant robot called a mech.
Somehow, I've gotten my truck onto the top of a tall, narrow, flat tower of rock so that I'm up as high as the mech. I intend to jump the truck onto the mech, but the device that does that malfunctions, and I end up on the ground at her feet. I dodge in and out and shoot, but the authorities decide that the battle has been won by the mech, and I have to go with the woman inside.
We leave the arena through a normal sized door, leaving our vehicles behind. She takes me into a building. It's a familiar place. I've escaped from here before. I ready myself to escape again.
We enter the room where I'll be kept, and I'm told I'm considered guilty and dangerous, and I'm to be executed because I cannot be held for a full sentence. I accept the ruling without any struggle, because I know I'm going to escape again. I'm not going to permit this; I've done nothing wrong, and these people have no right to do this to me. They are not the real authorities, just people who have the arrogance to think themselves that important, and behave like it. The woman speaking to me is put off by my attitude, and says she doesn't think I understand the gravity of the situation. She tells me I won't escape this time. After that, sge and everyone else leaves the room.
I know the layout of the part of the building from which I previously escaped. The room I'm in has huge bay windows, but the glass is unbreakable. However, everyone driving by can see inside. Outside my door is a hallway stretching away from the room, with two other doors immediately to the left and right, then a receptionist's station on the left after the first door. That opens into kind of a lobby with an exit, and there is more building beyond that.
The door to the right leads to offices and workrooms for employees of the prison. On the left, there are other cells, and another hallway that leads to the execution chamber. There are also supply closets and a couple of utility rooms. It was in one of those closets that I hid for several moments after my last escape, while the search fanned out from the facility.
An employee brings me a change of clothes in an overnight bag. I change in full view of the windows, (because there is nowhere else to change) but with my back turned to them and sitting down to prevent anyone seeing anything important. Even so, there is an immediate traffic jam as cars slow down because the drivers can see the back of a naked woman.
The employee returns, and helps me finish changing. She also gives me a magazine with an address in it for where my brother is being held. This gets my attention, as I did not know that "they" had him. Immediately, I am able to see into his room, and speak to him. I tell him that when I show up and say it's time to go, we have to leave without delay, so be ready. He agrees, and then it's time for me to leave this room. The employee leaves, but she leaves the bag with me, along with a bunch of balloons. Before she goes, she tells me to hurry, because they've rescheduled my execution for earlier. She leaves the door unlocked on her way out. She also did that when she brought me the bag, but the receptionist noticed and came to lock the door again. This time, I am able to sneak out of the room.
I walk down the hallway, right past the receptionist's desk. I hear the employee chatting with her, asking what activity I am scheduled for prior to my execution, telling her that she'll take me to it. The balloons hide my face, and the receptionist is distracted, so I am able to slip by. I hear her reply: "Gymnastics."
Gymnastics? Seriously? That's a new one on me. I figure they are trying to keep me too busy to try to escape. I also figure if I head in the direction I'm supposed to be going until I get to the exit, I'll have a better chance of getting out undisturbed. I spot several people in brightly colored (some fluorescent) gym clothes, and decide they must be headed for the gymnastics room. I follow along with them until I get to the big exit. Instead of continuing on to the room, I leave the building.
Several other people are leaving with me. They are completely uninvolved, and don't know who I am, so I'm unconcerned that they will cause me to get recaptured. As I hurry along, though, a tall, blond woman spots a cut on my cheek. She takes a tissue out and wipes off the blood, then wipes the excess not absorbed by the tissue on a pillar that supports the canopy in front of the building. Great. That'll tell 'em I was here when they start searching. Now they'll know which exit I used.
The woman is about to put the tissue in her purse, creating another DNA sample, but I politely thank her and tell her I'll dispose of it for her. I take it, fold it up, and put it in my back pocket. I can't get rid of the blood on the pillar, but maybe they won't see that.
I turn right and head toward the prison where my brother is being kept. The direction takes me across a courtyard with a fountain, gardens, and natural stone steps. From the outside, the building looks a lot like a school. The window pattern is especially similar.
People are coming from the direction I'm headed. I hear them talking, and someone says here She comes. "She" spoken with a capital "S" is how the entire staff refers to the woman who brought me in. Everyone here is intimidated by her. I am given to understand that she is in charge, and is kind of a bitch. I change direction and go up the other set of stairs closer to the building. At the top of the stairs, I find a setup similar to a camp. There are several poorly constructed little shacks. I know my brother is in one of those shacks.
Afraid the woman is following me, and that I will be discovered and recaptured, I slip in behind one of the shacks, the one I am pretty sure he is in. It has a lot of thin wood chips (the same type of wood the shacks are made of, as if the chips are pieces that have fallen off) on the ground behind it, and the back of the building bows backward. Since it's very close to the building I was in, it becomes difficult to get through. About halfway through, at the narrowest point, I realize I'm having to push really hard to squeeze in between the shack and the building.
At the same time, I see prisoners and guards sweeping up more wood chips. They are shoving them in behind the building. If I don't move, they'll see me even though it's dark back here. To hide better, I lay down on top of the chips, which are piled at least a foot deep. Down here, it's even darker. I can see them, but they can't see me. I notice that among the guards are some of my classmates. I'm glad they can't see me. They'd be sure to recognize me, and then I'd never escape.
My plan is easy. I'll wait a few moments until the guards have gone, grab my brother, and we'll run. There is a path from the yard into the woods, where there are carts we can use to escape. Once we've gotten a distance, we can abandon the cart. There will be another family member waiting to take us home.
The guards are just finishing up. As I wait, I can feel the wood chips digging into my side. I have the feeling of certainty that my plan will work, as long as I remain patient and follow it. The only big challenge now is going to be getting up from where I am laying, given how narrow the space is.
The feeling of the wood chips digging into my side woke me. I'd been sleeping on that side all night, and was feeling uncomfortable for real. On waking, I realized that several of the characters in the dream were familiar. Because of who everyone was, I think the dream was a manifestation of the anxiety I feel related to my work and everything that has been going on there. At no point in the dream did I actually feel that I was guilty of something and deserved imprisonment. Rather, the whole time I felt unjustly treated as guilty, and wrongfully imprisoned. I felt that my brother deserved it even less, because he was totally uninvolved with them, and I was angry that they'd taken him.
The "authority" who took me into the building had represented my boss at work. She didn't look like her, but the giant robot did. IRL, my boss is really authoritarian and very impatient toward me. Everything I do is either wrong, not enough, or not necessary, even though it's in my job description or what she told me to do and how she told me to do it. She drives me nuts!
The employee who helped me was a lady who had trained at our store before moving on to a management position. She had noticed that there was unequal treatment by my boss between me and the other employees; I had a heavier workload, wasn't allowed breaks, and couldn't even go to the restroom without getting questioned about it, while most of my co-workers get a break an average of once every two hours, plus restroom breaks, and have time to stand around doing nothing. Sort of mixed in with that identity was the identity of the person who has replaced me in that position as I have moved on to a new position. In my new position, I'll partly be working a different shift, and will not have to deal with my boss as much.
The receptionist was a co-worker who doesn't believe the position I'd been holding was that hard. She is also a gossip monger, and has the tendency to assign blame for anything that she thinks has gone wrong in the store. She frequently communicates that blame to the boss, trying to get people into trouble. It often works, even when the evidence shows that she is wrong. Once the boss has been told by her that someone did something they shouldn't have, or didn't do something they should have, it doesn't matter if it's true or not, that person will be in trouble for something.
The lady who wiped the blood from my cheek, I think represents the regional human resources manager for the company. A couple of months ago, I was injured at work. A doctor authorized me to return, but with a break restriction. Even though the company has allowed that of other employees, my restriction was rejected, and I was taken off of the schedule for a little over a week until the restriction expired. I believe that was done because I filed worker's compensation for the medical bills associated with the injury. I had to, though. I don't have any insurance, and I was hurt on the job. Anyway, it is the HR manager who deals with that, and she's the one whose decisions have kept me off of the schedule for so long.
The condition under which I was hurt has existed at the store for years, and is dangerous. I called OSHA, but found that the particular working condition which caused my injury isn't directly regulated. OSHA offers advice, but doesn't have specific policy. However, OSHA found two other serious violations in the store, and cited the company. The day after the inspection, when the citation was received by corporate, the company changed how my injury was being handled. They used odd paperwork and red tape to keep me off the schedule for nearly two whole months, and refused to allow me to use any of my vacation time to get a pay check during those months.
I fought back by applying for unemployment, and have filed a retaliation/discrimination complaint with OSHA making four specific points which demonstrate discrimination. Because I'd filed unemployment, the company had to put me back on the schedule. They tried to use part of the mandatory paperwork to claim I was on voluntary leave (I wasn't) and get out of paying unemployment, but I had kept a journal, and was able to cite phone calls in which I was ordered to fill out and return those papers and told I couldn't be returned to work without them.
In the end, the company has been left with the choice of either acknowledging that I was laid off, or putting me back on the schedule. In the meantime, they had me out beyond the date of the switch in position from one that comes in early in the morning to one that doesn't.
I've been left with the feeling of having checkmated my way back to work. I'm going to continue to see the OSHA complaint through to the end. Regardless of the outcome of that, it sets a precedent with OSHA and the company that I've felt retaliated against by my manager and by corporate, so that in the future, if they retaliate further, OSHA will be ready to handle it.
I think that my brother in the dream represented my son in real life. My family has been subjected to financial hardship because of what has happened, and it feels like my son has been punished for the company's attitude about safety and employee rights. Among other things, we've had to give up on allowing him to play the instrument he wanted in the school orchestra, because we can't afford to buy one, and we don't qualify for credit to rent-to-own. This is a direct result of my being kept from work.
I want to make things better for him, and I am sure that will happen, but I'm going to have to be patient and stick out the time it takes for the OSHA complaint to go through, and for the unemployment case to be decided. In the long run, I'm leaving the company; my husband and I are going to move our family back to the area where he grew up after the end of this school year. We'll be able to get the instrument next year, and he'll be able to catch up. There are more and better jobs in that area than where we are. I think that is what the waiting in the dream represented. In real life, though, it's a LOT harder than in the dream!
Somehow, I've gotten my truck onto the top of a tall, narrow, flat tower of rock so that I'm up as high as the mech. I intend to jump the truck onto the mech, but the device that does that malfunctions, and I end up on the ground at her feet. I dodge in and out and shoot, but the authorities decide that the battle has been won by the mech, and I have to go with the woman inside.
We leave the arena through a normal sized door, leaving our vehicles behind. She takes me into a building. It's a familiar place. I've escaped from here before. I ready myself to escape again.
We enter the room where I'll be kept, and I'm told I'm considered guilty and dangerous, and I'm to be executed because I cannot be held for a full sentence. I accept the ruling without any struggle, because I know I'm going to escape again. I'm not going to permit this; I've done nothing wrong, and these people have no right to do this to me. They are not the real authorities, just people who have the arrogance to think themselves that important, and behave like it. The woman speaking to me is put off by my attitude, and says she doesn't think I understand the gravity of the situation. She tells me I won't escape this time. After that, sge and everyone else leaves the room.
I know the layout of the part of the building from which I previously escaped. The room I'm in has huge bay windows, but the glass is unbreakable. However, everyone driving by can see inside. Outside my door is a hallway stretching away from the room, with two other doors immediately to the left and right, then a receptionist's station on the left after the first door. That opens into kind of a lobby with an exit, and there is more building beyond that.
The door to the right leads to offices and workrooms for employees of the prison. On the left, there are other cells, and another hallway that leads to the execution chamber. There are also supply closets and a couple of utility rooms. It was in one of those closets that I hid for several moments after my last escape, while the search fanned out from the facility.
An employee brings me a change of clothes in an overnight bag. I change in full view of the windows, (because there is nowhere else to change) but with my back turned to them and sitting down to prevent anyone seeing anything important. Even so, there is an immediate traffic jam as cars slow down because the drivers can see the back of a naked woman.
The employee returns, and helps me finish changing. She also gives me a magazine with an address in it for where my brother is being held. This gets my attention, as I did not know that "they" had him. Immediately, I am able to see into his room, and speak to him. I tell him that when I show up and say it's time to go, we have to leave without delay, so be ready. He agrees, and then it's time for me to leave this room. The employee leaves, but she leaves the bag with me, along with a bunch of balloons. Before she goes, she tells me to hurry, because they've rescheduled my execution for earlier. She leaves the door unlocked on her way out. She also did that when she brought me the bag, but the receptionist noticed and came to lock the door again. This time, I am able to sneak out of the room.
I walk down the hallway, right past the receptionist's desk. I hear the employee chatting with her, asking what activity I am scheduled for prior to my execution, telling her that she'll take me to it. The balloons hide my face, and the receptionist is distracted, so I am able to slip by. I hear her reply: "Gymnastics."
Gymnastics? Seriously? That's a new one on me. I figure they are trying to keep me too busy to try to escape. I also figure if I head in the direction I'm supposed to be going until I get to the exit, I'll have a better chance of getting out undisturbed. I spot several people in brightly colored (some fluorescent) gym clothes, and decide they must be headed for the gymnastics room. I follow along with them until I get to the big exit. Instead of continuing on to the room, I leave the building.
Several other people are leaving with me. They are completely uninvolved, and don't know who I am, so I'm unconcerned that they will cause me to get recaptured. As I hurry along, though, a tall, blond woman spots a cut on my cheek. She takes a tissue out and wipes off the blood, then wipes the excess not absorbed by the tissue on a pillar that supports the canopy in front of the building. Great. That'll tell 'em I was here when they start searching. Now they'll know which exit I used.
The woman is about to put the tissue in her purse, creating another DNA sample, but I politely thank her and tell her I'll dispose of it for her. I take it, fold it up, and put it in my back pocket. I can't get rid of the blood on the pillar, but maybe they won't see that.
I turn right and head toward the prison where my brother is being kept. The direction takes me across a courtyard with a fountain, gardens, and natural stone steps. From the outside, the building looks a lot like a school. The window pattern is especially similar.
People are coming from the direction I'm headed. I hear them talking, and someone says here She comes. "She" spoken with a capital "S" is how the entire staff refers to the woman who brought me in. Everyone here is intimidated by her. I am given to understand that she is in charge, and is kind of a bitch. I change direction and go up the other set of stairs closer to the building. At the top of the stairs, I find a setup similar to a camp. There are several poorly constructed little shacks. I know my brother is in one of those shacks.
Afraid the woman is following me, and that I will be discovered and recaptured, I slip in behind one of the shacks, the one I am pretty sure he is in. It has a lot of thin wood chips (the same type of wood the shacks are made of, as if the chips are pieces that have fallen off) on the ground behind it, and the back of the building bows backward. Since it's very close to the building I was in, it becomes difficult to get through. About halfway through, at the narrowest point, I realize I'm having to push really hard to squeeze in between the shack and the building.
At the same time, I see prisoners and guards sweeping up more wood chips. They are shoving them in behind the building. If I don't move, they'll see me even though it's dark back here. To hide better, I lay down on top of the chips, which are piled at least a foot deep. Down here, it's even darker. I can see them, but they can't see me. I notice that among the guards are some of my classmates. I'm glad they can't see me. They'd be sure to recognize me, and then I'd never escape.
My plan is easy. I'll wait a few moments until the guards have gone, grab my brother, and we'll run. There is a path from the yard into the woods, where there are carts we can use to escape. Once we've gotten a distance, we can abandon the cart. There will be another family member waiting to take us home.
The guards are just finishing up. As I wait, I can feel the wood chips digging into my side. I have the feeling of certainty that my plan will work, as long as I remain patient and follow it. The only big challenge now is going to be getting up from where I am laying, given how narrow the space is.
The feeling of the wood chips digging into my side woke me. I'd been sleeping on that side all night, and was feeling uncomfortable for real. On waking, I realized that several of the characters in the dream were familiar. Because of who everyone was, I think the dream was a manifestation of the anxiety I feel related to my work and everything that has been going on there. At no point in the dream did I actually feel that I was guilty of something and deserved imprisonment. Rather, the whole time I felt unjustly treated as guilty, and wrongfully imprisoned. I felt that my brother deserved it even less, because he was totally uninvolved with them, and I was angry that they'd taken him.
The "authority" who took me into the building had represented my boss at work. She didn't look like her, but the giant robot did. IRL, my boss is really authoritarian and very impatient toward me. Everything I do is either wrong, not enough, or not necessary, even though it's in my job description or what she told me to do and how she told me to do it. She drives me nuts!
The employee who helped me was a lady who had trained at our store before moving on to a management position. She had noticed that there was unequal treatment by my boss between me and the other employees; I had a heavier workload, wasn't allowed breaks, and couldn't even go to the restroom without getting questioned about it, while most of my co-workers get a break an average of once every two hours, plus restroom breaks, and have time to stand around doing nothing. Sort of mixed in with that identity was the identity of the person who has replaced me in that position as I have moved on to a new position. In my new position, I'll partly be working a different shift, and will not have to deal with my boss as much.
The receptionist was a co-worker who doesn't believe the position I'd been holding was that hard. She is also a gossip monger, and has the tendency to assign blame for anything that she thinks has gone wrong in the store. She frequently communicates that blame to the boss, trying to get people into trouble. It often works, even when the evidence shows that she is wrong. Once the boss has been told by her that someone did something they shouldn't have, or didn't do something they should have, it doesn't matter if it's true or not, that person will be in trouble for something.
The lady who wiped the blood from my cheek, I think represents the regional human resources manager for the company. A couple of months ago, I was injured at work. A doctor authorized me to return, but with a break restriction. Even though the company has allowed that of other employees, my restriction was rejected, and I was taken off of the schedule for a little over a week until the restriction expired. I believe that was done because I filed worker's compensation for the medical bills associated with the injury. I had to, though. I don't have any insurance, and I was hurt on the job. Anyway, it is the HR manager who deals with that, and she's the one whose decisions have kept me off of the schedule for so long.
The condition under which I was hurt has existed at the store for years, and is dangerous. I called OSHA, but found that the particular working condition which caused my injury isn't directly regulated. OSHA offers advice, but doesn't have specific policy. However, OSHA found two other serious violations in the store, and cited the company. The day after the inspection, when the citation was received by corporate, the company changed how my injury was being handled. They used odd paperwork and red tape to keep me off the schedule for nearly two whole months, and refused to allow me to use any of my vacation time to get a pay check during those months.
I fought back by applying for unemployment, and have filed a retaliation/discrimination complaint with OSHA making four specific points which demonstrate discrimination. Because I'd filed unemployment, the company had to put me back on the schedule. They tried to use part of the mandatory paperwork to claim I was on voluntary leave (I wasn't) and get out of paying unemployment, but I had kept a journal, and was able to cite phone calls in which I was ordered to fill out and return those papers and told I couldn't be returned to work without them.
In the end, the company has been left with the choice of either acknowledging that I was laid off, or putting me back on the schedule. In the meantime, they had me out beyond the date of the switch in position from one that comes in early in the morning to one that doesn't.
I've been left with the feeling of having checkmated my way back to work. I'm going to continue to see the OSHA complaint through to the end. Regardless of the outcome of that, it sets a precedent with OSHA and the company that I've felt retaliated against by my manager and by corporate, so that in the future, if they retaliate further, OSHA will be ready to handle it.
I think that my brother in the dream represented my son in real life. My family has been subjected to financial hardship because of what has happened, and it feels like my son has been punished for the company's attitude about safety and employee rights. Among other things, we've had to give up on allowing him to play the instrument he wanted in the school orchestra, because we can't afford to buy one, and we don't qualify for credit to rent-to-own. This is a direct result of my being kept from work.
I want to make things better for him, and I am sure that will happen, but I'm going to have to be patient and stick out the time it takes for the OSHA complaint to go through, and for the unemployment case to be decided. In the long run, I'm leaving the company; my husband and I are going to move our family back to the area where he grew up after the end of this school year. We'll be able to get the instrument next year, and he'll be able to catch up. There are more and better jobs in that area than where we are. I think that is what the waiting in the dream represented. In real life, though, it's a LOT harder than in the dream!
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