Dream On

 I think science has convinced all of us that we dream on a nightly basis.  During the course of our slumber, we probably have numerous dreams.  Many people, like my mother, remember pretty much every dream they have and love sharing the highlights of said dreams with whoever is within listening range.

Some remember their dreams and are amused by what they dream, perhaps wondering what they ate for dinner the night before which caused such a dream.  Mushrooms perhaps?  There are also some who try to interpret every dream they have.  They go so far as to take notes as soon as they wake up, while it is still fresh on their mind.  When I wake up, the only think I want to remember is "where is the bathroom."

I'm sure I dream every night.  But I never remember my dreams.  Well, that is not exactly true, I might remember one or two dreams a month.  That's it.  In fact, it doesn't bother me at all that I don't remember my dreams.  One last thing before we got to the main point, my dream last night, as far as I can remember, I've never had a bad dream.  Ever.  My dreams are sunshine, puppies, baseball, etc.   All the things that make you feel warm and fuzzy.  I know, I'm weird.  I've known that for sixty-plus years.

Ok, on to last night's dream.  To say it was weird would be an understatement.

When you look at the ingredients of the dream, travel, baseball, TWA, kitchen appliances, cannabis and some of California's finest uniformed officers, well, let me tell you.  You have all the ingredients for an Pulitzer Prize winning dream.  Is that even possible?

As most of you know I spent 17 years working for Ozark Airlines and for Trans World Airlines (TWA).  As you also probably airline employees can pretty much fly for nothing.  Of course it is space available, but with most of us employees, it's a chance we are willing to take.

Ok, onto the dream.  I mean it this time.

I'm not sure how the dream started, I may have joined midway, I don't recall.  I just remember being in the Angels Stadium in Anaheim, California, where I and four or five guys I worked with at TWA were sitting in box seats watching the Angels play someone.  My brain fails me on the opponent.  Keep in mind I have not worked for TWA since 1999.

It is an afternoon contest and we are soaking up the southern California sun.  Trust me, we've made this trip many times, to Anaheim, San Diego or Los Angeles.  The game against the unnamed opponent was really nothing of note.  The Angels did win, but the game was unspectacular.  The sparse crowd began to file out, but the six of us just sat there, again enjoying the sun and chatting about where to go for dinner.  Our red-eye flight back to St. Louis was not until 11.30 or so, so we had plenty of time before we had to turn the rental car in.

As we were sitting there, a gentleman dressed in khakis and freshly starched pink oxford button down shirt, sat on the back of the seats two rows in front of us (Yes, I'm really dreaming all of this).  "You guys pilots?"  None of us were, but I thought, "what a strange question."  I guess we all had dumb look on our faces, because then he added, "I noticed three of you have TWA ballcaps on."  Well, he was observant.  He told us his name and that he was part of the Angels p.r. department.  

We chatted for a few minutes and I piped up and asked our host, "I noticed Mike Trout didn't play today, is he hurt?"  He looked at me like I had three heads.  "Who?" he asked.  We all kind of looked at each other.  We all knew who Mike Trout was.  Probably the best Angels player ever.  "You, know," I continued, "Mike Trout, first-round draft pick, three-time MVP, great player."  Again, he look perplexed and said, "I never heard of him."  One of my cohorts looked at the guy in the khakis and said, "what year is this?"  For a third time he looked at us dumbfounded.  "It's 1988, what year do you think it is?" At this point we all heard the Twilight Zone them playing over the stadium loudspeakers, because we knew it was a decade or two later than 1988.  

We said our goodbyes to our host who had no idea what century we were in and worked our way outside and noticed one of the guys missing.  Now we didn't think he was kidnapped or anything like that, but he had definitely disappeared.  After a few minutes he came trotting out of one the exit gates and joined us.  He was a little out of breath and said, "look what I've got."  He reached in his backpack (this is where the dream gets really bizarre) and pulled out a gallon freezer bag full of marijuana leaves.

Our poor misguided coworker was so proud of himself.  "Pretty cool, eh? (No, he wasn't Canadian) whole bag for only $50."  None of us knew if that was a good price or not.  We all knew we did not want to get busted and miss a flight and miss work and possibly get fired.  At this point he pulls an electric coffee grinder out of his backpack, mentioning the friendly Orange County cannabis dealer had thrown it in gratis so he could grind up the leaves.  Even in my dream I am thinking this is getting more bizarre by the breath.  

We keep our distance from our co-worker and start walking to the car when he yells to know one in particular, "hey, how does this thing work?"  Being the closest to him I go back to see what the problem was.  Seems our Rhodes Scholar did not realize he had to find an outlet and plug it in.  But as if dropped from the heavens, he saw one on a utility pole 20 feet away.  He gathers up his new purchases and heads over.  As he is plugging it in, I am stuffing this coffee grinder with leaves.  They fit nicely in the container.  I push my friend out of the way and prepared to show him how a coffee/Cannabis leaf grinder works.  The lid was on tight and I pressed down the button and we have electricity.  

As soon as I finish, one of the others calls my name.  I don't look at him and ask what he wants.  "We have a problem," he said.  At this point I see two Anaheim Police cars and one, two, three, no four uniformed officers. "What are you doing boys?" the oldest one said in his best Clint Eastwood voice.  Now, even in my dream, I wanted to say, "making coffee sir."  But I didn't and kept my mouth shut.  I'm thinking, I'm going to jail because this moron of a friend of mine doesn't know how to operate a coffee grinder.

After talking to all of us, five of us were cited for misdemeanor possession.  Even though we never touched it, well I did when I ground up that first batch of leaves.  I could just see myself at San Quentin with Charles Manson.  Our co-worker who chose poorly, was cited for possession and intent to distribute.

It was at this point that either nature called, or I simply woke up I was put in the back of a squad car.  I don't remember, and when I went back to sleep 15 minutes later, California was a distant memory, and I was dreaming of something else.  Don't ask me what, I don't remember.

So, how did you rest last night?