I've often wondered what the difference between a nightmare and a dream is. I suppose a nightmare is simply a frightening or disturbing dream. However, it can be a fine line between what is frightening and / or disturbing and what is not. Quite frankly, I think that even my most mundane dreams would frighten or disturb the average person whose mind is not completely twisted. Then you get into the territory of night terrors. I, thankfully, have been spared these but I have known people who have experienced them. One of the guys who lived in the dormitory room next to mine in college experienced night terrors. He would wake everyone up in the wee small hours with blood - curdling screams. I asked him a couple of times what he was dreaming about during these episodes. He never wanted to talk about it. We was a nice guy (I suppose he still is) but a wee bit unhinged, I think. He once bolted out of his room and smashed an acoustic guitar to pieces in the hallway for no apparent reason.
But I digress: The dream, or nightmare, call it what you will, that I had last night was bizarre in anyone's book. It went like this:
I was an apprentice limousine driver. I don't even know if there are such things, if they train limo drivers this way, but that is what I was doing. I sat in the passenger seat and rode shotgun while the pro drove this gigantic stretch limo. The only problem was that this guy was a huge, fat, hairy, smelly guy who barely spoke English. I know, any decent limo company probably wouldn't hire a guy like that, they are kind of picky about who they hire as drivers but this is a dream (or nightmare) and it doesn't have to make sense. He wore the typical black, limo uniform but is was about two sizes too small and he bulged out of it in embarrassing spots.
We were driving down the road, I had directions to a hotel where we were to pick up a bunch of pop-stars to take them to a concert - someone along the lines of Adele and Dashboard Confidential or whoever is big in the top 10, real popular pop stars. I think my addled brain reasoned that was why they sent this gorilla of a driver out to get them, in case they got mobbed by teeny-boppers - for intimidation purposes. We arrived at the hotel and out came the pop stars with their entourages. The climbed in, ignoring us as their hangers-on fawned and giggled. There were something like a dozen people back there. They immediately rolled up the partition window without saying a word to us.
"I bet they stiff us." I said to my mentor.
"Asabet baddja kubatta."
"Um,... Stiff us...That means they won't leave a tip."
"Kumina numa buddakalibidda! Teep."
I gave up trying to talk to the beast, he put the car in gear and we oozed forward. I could tell the limo was clearly underpowered. I could hear the engine laboring under the hood as it tried to accelerate the vehicle's immense mass into motion.
I had directions to the venue written down by the dispatcher (I know what you are thinking. No GPS. This is my dream, occurring in my pre-digital age brain.)
"Turn left here."
He turned right and as he did so he sideswiped a utility pole. The car hung up on it so he put it reverse, gassed it and backed into the intersection. I could hear the crowd in the back making panicked, frightened noises.
"Pull over, pull over! I want to get out and look at it."
"Sheet! Knabulla teripidulleva! Shabidakmulla billidom!"
He just sat there shouting at me so I got out . The side of the passenger door was gouged and scraped. The mirror was hanging by it's wires. Cars in back of us started leaning on their horns. I started to get back in when he threw it in drive and lurched forward. I barely made it back inside when the still open door hit the pole and slammed shut.
"Are you nuts!? You almost killed me. Pull over! You can't just keep going! Pull over!"
He hit the brakes and started to pull to the curb. I could immediately tell that the brakes were undersized for the limo's huge bulk. We banged into the rear bumper of a parked car and came to a stop. I jumped out. The front of the limo was only slightly damaged but the bumper of the parked car was badly dented. The driver - the beast, (that's a good name for him - we'll call him that) came running over and started screaming at me in his indecipherable tongue.
"Why are you screaming at me?!?! Your the one who can't drive this thing!"
He shoved me and I fell backwards. By this time the entire celebrity entourage had piled out and was screaming at both me and The Beast. He turned around and screamed back at them waving his hairy arms and hands wildly. I picked myself up just as a guy in a ringmaster's costume came running out of one of the row homes that lined the street.
"Look what you did to my car! You @^%*&! I'll #$@!^%$#!!!" He pulled out a whip and started threatening me with it. Cracking it, making deafening pops as it's it tip went supersonic. I felt the wind it kicked up on my right ear. I ran around to the other side of the car and told one of the less panicked passengers that I was going to go find a pay phone and call the cops. (Remember, this is my dream and my pre-digital brain. No cellphones)
I ran up the street. I couldn't find a pay phone. I saw a bar around the corner and figured that there would be one in there. Just as I was opening the door the limo came around the corner. One of the pop star posse people was behind the wheel. She looked like she was about 12 years old. The car stopped and I opened the driver's door. I could see that everyone had gotten back in except The Beast. I figured that was a good thing. Just then he came running around the corner stark naked. Somehow they had managed to subdue him and strip him. Perhaps the ringmaster helped.
"Shit! Slide over, I'll drive!"
But she didn't slide over. Instead she got out and ran to the passenger's side and opened the rear-most door to get back in with her entourage.
"Aaaaah! Hurry up! Here he comes!"
She opened the door and got in. At the same time, I jumped in, threw the car in drive and floored it. The Beast was right on top of us as the engine roared in it's pathetic attempt to pull the gigantic limo's weight into motion. It accelerated excruciatingly slowly. I could do nothing except hold the accelerator to the floor and shout "Come on, come on, go go go!" The Best frantically ran alongside, grasping for the still opened door, his hairy legs pumping, his hairy belly bobbing up and down, his hairy junk swinging back and forth. All I could think of was that if he managed to get in, those people were in for a hell of a ride. I'd just roll up the partition and lock it. But he'd probably smash his way through and it probably wouldn't be right to subject those people to his wrath so it would be better to stop and let them run for it. As I thought this, the car gained enough velocity to outpace him. I saw him in the mirror with a combination of stark panic and rage in his eyes. He made one last desperate, lurching attempt to grab the door handle. He tripped and fell on his hairy, bulbous belly.
Then I woke up. I've had nightmares that were so disturbing that I was unable to get back to sleep, sometimes they hung with me for days, keeping me in a funk. This one wasn't so bad. I sort of enjoyed it. So I went back to sleep.
But I digress: The dream, or nightmare, call it what you will, that I had last night was bizarre in anyone's book. It went like this:
I was an apprentice limousine driver. I don't even know if there are such things, if they train limo drivers this way, but that is what I was doing. I sat in the passenger seat and rode shotgun while the pro drove this gigantic stretch limo. The only problem was that this guy was a huge, fat, hairy, smelly guy who barely spoke English. I know, any decent limo company probably wouldn't hire a guy like that, they are kind of picky about who they hire as drivers but this is a dream (or nightmare) and it doesn't have to make sense. He wore the typical black, limo uniform but is was about two sizes too small and he bulged out of it in embarrassing spots.
We were driving down the road, I had directions to a hotel where we were to pick up a bunch of pop-stars to take them to a concert - someone along the lines of Adele and Dashboard Confidential or whoever is big in the top 10, real popular pop stars. I think my addled brain reasoned that was why they sent this gorilla of a driver out to get them, in case they got mobbed by teeny-boppers - for intimidation purposes. We arrived at the hotel and out came the pop stars with their entourages. The climbed in, ignoring us as their hangers-on fawned and giggled. There were something like a dozen people back there. They immediately rolled up the partition window without saying a word to us.
"I bet they stiff us." I said to my mentor.
"Asabet baddja kubatta."
"Um,... Stiff us...That means they won't leave a tip."
"Kumina numa buddakalibidda! Teep."
I gave up trying to talk to the beast, he put the car in gear and we oozed forward. I could tell the limo was clearly underpowered. I could hear the engine laboring under the hood as it tried to accelerate the vehicle's immense mass into motion.
I had directions to the venue written down by the dispatcher (I know what you are thinking. No GPS. This is my dream, occurring in my pre-digital age brain.)
"Turn left here."
He turned right and as he did so he sideswiped a utility pole. The car hung up on it so he put it reverse, gassed it and backed into the intersection. I could hear the crowd in the back making panicked, frightened noises.
"Pull over, pull over! I want to get out and look at it."
"Sheet! Knabulla teripidulleva! Shabidakmulla billidom!"
He just sat there shouting at me so I got out . The side of the passenger door was gouged and scraped. The mirror was hanging by it's wires. Cars in back of us started leaning on their horns. I started to get back in when he threw it in drive and lurched forward. I barely made it back inside when the still open door hit the pole and slammed shut.
"Are you nuts!? You almost killed me. Pull over! You can't just keep going! Pull over!"
He hit the brakes and started to pull to the curb. I could immediately tell that the brakes were undersized for the limo's huge bulk. We banged into the rear bumper of a parked car and came to a stop. I jumped out. The front of the limo was only slightly damaged but the bumper of the parked car was badly dented. The driver - the beast, (that's a good name for him - we'll call him that) came running over and started screaming at me in his indecipherable tongue.
"Why are you screaming at me?!?! Your the one who can't drive this thing!"
He shoved me and I fell backwards. By this time the entire celebrity entourage had piled out and was screaming at both me and The Beast. He turned around and screamed back at them waving his hairy arms and hands wildly. I picked myself up just as a guy in a ringmaster's costume came running out of one of the row homes that lined the street.
"Look what you did to my car! You @^%*&! I'll #$@!^%$#!!!" He pulled out a whip and started threatening me with it. Cracking it, making deafening pops as it's it tip went supersonic. I felt the wind it kicked up on my right ear. I ran around to the other side of the car and told one of the less panicked passengers that I was going to go find a pay phone and call the cops. (Remember, this is my dream and my pre-digital brain. No cellphones)
I ran up the street. I couldn't find a pay phone. I saw a bar around the corner and figured that there would be one in there. Just as I was opening the door the limo came around the corner. One of the pop star posse people was behind the wheel. She looked like she was about 12 years old. The car stopped and I opened the driver's door. I could see that everyone had gotten back in except The Beast. I figured that was a good thing. Just then he came running around the corner stark naked. Somehow they had managed to subdue him and strip him. Perhaps the ringmaster helped.
"Shit! Slide over, I'll drive!"
But she didn't slide over. Instead she got out and ran to the passenger's side and opened the rear-most door to get back in with her entourage.
"Aaaaah! Hurry up! Here he comes!"
She opened the door and got in. At the same time, I jumped in, threw the car in drive and floored it. The Beast was right on top of us as the engine roared in it's pathetic attempt to pull the gigantic limo's weight into motion. It accelerated excruciatingly slowly. I could do nothing except hold the accelerator to the floor and shout "Come on, come on, go go go!" The Best frantically ran alongside, grasping for the still opened door, his hairy legs pumping, his hairy belly bobbing up and down, his hairy junk swinging back and forth. All I could think of was that if he managed to get in, those people were in for a hell of a ride. I'd just roll up the partition and lock it. But he'd probably smash his way through and it probably wouldn't be right to subject those people to his wrath so it would be better to stop and let them run for it. As I thought this, the car gained enough velocity to outpace him. I saw him in the mirror with a combination of stark panic and rage in his eyes. He made one last desperate, lurching attempt to grab the door handle. He tripped and fell on his hairy, bulbous belly.
Then I woke up. I've had nightmares that were so disturbing that I was unable to get back to sleep, sometimes they hung with me for days, keeping me in a funk. This one wasn't so bad. I sort of enjoyed it. So I went back to sleep.
