Saturday, May 20, 2006

Adventures in a Recurring Dream

Recently I've run across a cluster of blogs that feature weird dreams. I have a recurring restaurant dream at least once a year. Every waiter/bartender I’ve ever known has a recurring restaurant dream. Nightmares, really. Mine alwaysalways—follows the same script.


In my recurring dream, I am at work in one of the fanciest restaurants in Dallas, waiting tables. It’s a busy night and I have four tables to serve. It's important that I stay in the dining room, but I dash back to the kitchen to get something. The kitchen has run out of an essential ingredient. The cooks are upset! Chef Homero wants me to take care of it, but it's important that I get back to the dining room

But what about my tables? I’ve got to pour some wine. That guy wants some fresh ground pepper. That lady wants another drink. Maybe the busman can do it…

In my recurring dream, suddenly I am driving up Addison Road in search of the essential ingredient. The thick traffic has come to a standstill. It’s daytime and I start sweating.

Oh, no! My tables! I can't get back in time. I'm going to get fired!

In my recurring dream, I am in a new Kroger’s grocery store looking for the essential ingredient. I run up and down every aisle trying to find it. There is no one to assist me (so what's new?). This place is huge. There are aisles as far as the eye can see. But no matter which way I turn, I can neither find help nor the essential ingredient. Other customers are wondering why I'm wearing a tuxedo. Even small children point at me. The checkout lines are too long to wait my turn. I can’t find my way out of the parking lot. The street is right there, but there are no exits to it. I sweat again. My shirt is ruined.

They're going to be so angry with me when I get back! They’re going to stiff me tonight!

In my recurring dream, I rush into the liquor store for a bottle of Jordan Cabernet Sauvignon. I think this is the essential ingredient. The nine year-old girl ahead of me pouts at the clerk who wants to see her I.D. She suddenly grows up and pulls coins—one at a time—from her wallet until finally there is enough to pay for her bottle of hooch. The clerk calls for some new sacks.

Come on, people! I've got to get back!

In my recurring dream, I dash through the restaurant's back door. Chef Homero yells at me for taking so long. No amount of explanation will soothe his wrath (so what's new?). I put several heavy bags of groceries on his service line. "At least you got the beer," he said. "Hey, don't leave these groceries here. Put them up. Wash the produce first…" Did I bring in that four-foot stack of lettuce boxes?

I can't, Chef. I've got four tables! I have to check on my tables!

In my recurring dream, my fellow waiters are just looking at me, shaking their heads while they smoke and count their tips.

Can one of you help me catch up? Can't anybody help me? Please! Now they’re smoking and ignoring me.

I run from the hot kitchen right into the hot temper of the busman. "Everybody’s calling for you, man! Where you been, man? You're suppose to be the Maitre D, man!"

You do it! I can’t go out there! I’ve ruined my Tux! They’ll kill me!

In my recurring dream, the busman pushes me into the dining room. "Look at this, man!" he says. The lights have been raised to full bright. The customers are gone. The tables have not been bussed. One table is loaded with napkins all neatly folded and ready for tomorrow. I suddenly realize it's after midnight and there will be no more business. I got stiffed real good! I see my angry boss smoking in the lounge. He won't take his fiery eyes off me. He's has a glass of Jordan.

Suddenly several customers are in the lounge, too. I know them all. They're all talking about me. I can't hear what they're saying, but I imagine it's bad. The chef is talking to the boss. They're both looking at me. The bartender is smirking and smoking. The other waiters are waiting to see what will happen to me.

"I shouldn't have left the dining room," I sayand wake myself up.

I’m ashamed. My heart is racing, I'm breathing heavily, I'm sweating. I raise up on one elbow and look for my boss in our dark bedroom. I discover My First Wife sound asleep beside me.


I think I’m scheduled to have that recurring dream in about a month or so.

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