Iâ€™m traveling and arrive late at night into a busy city airport, having missed my connection. I make my way to ground transportation and walk through ranks of tall rumbling buses, eventually locate the one I need, climb wearily aboard, ride it to my destination. Once my business is complete, I go back to the airport to fly home only to discover my ID is missing and recall its having been taken and handled by travel personnel on the trip out. I step up to the airline desk, bustling with hard, hassled-looking folks, and explain that my ID is missing, that Iâ€™d handed it over to them days prior, give them my maiden name, my married name.
The functionary thumbs quickly through a small file case, snaps it shut, says, â€œNope,â€ and looks ready to move on to his next item of business.
Iâ€™m starting to panic a little and blurt out, â€œWait! Wait! Could you look again? It must be here somewhere!â€
The man sighs audibly and picks up the box once more. â€œName?â€
I repeat both names, spelling each succinctly.
He thumbs through the box with exaggerated care and says pointedly to me, â€œNot here.â€
And I start to lose my shit. â€œLook,â€ I begin. â€œYour people took my ID from me and never gave it backâ€”it must be here someplace.â€
I start babbling a whole lot of extraneous information, how tired Iâ€™d been, how late it was, how I cant â€˜fly home without this picture ID, and so on.
The guyâ€™s getting visibly irritated and doing his best to simply ignore me and get on with the rest of the chaos at the desk until finally I snap and, raising my voice, say something like, â€œWould you fucking help me here?â€
As soon as itâ€™s out of my mouth I realize my mistakeâ€”the whole place immediately shuts down to meâ€”Iâ€™ve crossed the line by cursing at them. I glance over at the supervisorâ€™s window and see him glaring at me and realize Iâ€™m a hairâ€™s breadth from getting hauled out of the place by security.
I grind my teeth, throw up my hands and walk away. Next I try the buses standing in lines like slumbering diesel-exhaling elephants. This goes on and on until I wake myself up with some verbal outburst in my sleep.
Beside me in bed Chris says, â€œWhat?â€ and I just say, â€œDream,â€ and roll over.
Iâ€™ve fallen in the water, and the helicopter comes down to try to pick me up, but they hadnâ€™t prepped for a water landing and donâ€™t have the right shoes on the aircraft.
The pilot, who looks a good deal like Ving Rhames, says, â€œLet me see if I can do it.â€ But the feet immediately sink beneath the waves. Meanwhile someone else is throwing me grappling lines.
The pilot goes, â€œCrap. Okay, everybody hang on,â€ and he angles the machine downward and dives.
I have a split second to think, â€œOh! It must be amphibious,â€ and draw a quick intake of air before Iâ€™m dragged along behind beneath the surface of the water and down. Presumably the plan is a quick dive and reemergence, but my lungs are burning until I expel my breath and wake up gasping.
Floyd is curled sleeping down where my feet would go, so Iâ€™ve torqued my body around him and return to wakefulness with a statement echoing from the dreamworld: I just keep tripping on all the dogs lying around the place.