Hotel Dream #2

My dream took place in a community with a
mall-hotel-business complex built on a dusty
unplanted mud hole filled lot. The dream has
a soundtrack and a background which run
fairly seamlessly through it. This half
baked commercial project is on radio news
programs, television, and is picketed by
protesters, and bombarded by fliers, all
complaining of its existence. I work there.
I do not know what my function is. I am
probobly working temporarily and visiting
from someplace else. Although the
construction seems new, and is barely
completed, the interior spaces are run down
and neglected. 

My room is dreadful. I bath often and each
time I bath I dream. The dreams are erotic
and involve semi-corpulent women I know.
Even women who are not hefty are hefted up
so that they may appear in these tub dreams.
I write a headline in this tub as well. “The
best things in life are E”. It is probably a
sub head, but I am nonetheless happy with
it.  

On the day I write this headline, I exit the
tub to “do a job”. I am never quite sure
what my job is. I know though, that it
requires my contacting other workers  in
other rooms whose numbers I know. I must
co-ordinate with these persons. A very
important number is 306. The person in room
306 has my box. My box presumably contains
equipment of some kind. Just how it has come
in possession of a stranger in a another
room is a mystery. There is only one
explanation for this mystery. It would make
me very nervous not to know where my
equipment was on the day of an important
job. The stranger has my equipment so that I
can have a bad time getting it. It gets
worse. 

There is a telephone in my room whose
receiver I lift. I dial 306 and a gruff man
answers the phone. He has the box I need and
I had better get over there fast as he was
just sleeping, (my call roused him) yet he
needs to leave right away. I dress, not sure
that I am dressing appropriately, and enter
the hallway system. 

Immediately upon leaving my doorway I loose
all sense of direction and place. I will
never be able to find my room again, I have
no idea in fact what room number it had.
This will have to be fixed later, for the
box is important to the day’s job.

I search out a hub of some kind resplendent
with stairways, elevators and small signs.
Upon one of them I see 306. It is not clear
which direction one would go in to get to
306. It is only then that I look at the room
number signs nearest this phalanx. 122,124,
I walk further....155 310. 310? Can 306 be
far away? 302, good, 304, wait a minute. It
is very difficult to read these door
plaquards. My head must be angled and my
facial expressions distorted in order to
make the signs readable. Wait, there it is,
oh I have lost it. Let me try to approach
the hall from a different angle entirely. 

I hold my arm straight out from my head,
cocked as it was in a strange angle. With my
arm like this, fingers brushing against the
doors I pass I can stop when I next see 306
and follow my arm to the door! 303, 112,
104, 204, service closet, 306. Lunging at
the door I almost strike my head against it.
As I grab for the doorknob the door swings
open into the room. There is a burly guy
tucking his tee shirt in his jeans in a
hurry. Obviously perturbed by either my
lateness, my interruption of his tasks, or
simply my existence. I am here for the box.
“you are going to have to wait for a minute”

Slam. 

The closing door disorients me and I am
driven out into the hall spinning. I am now
lost again and must begin to search for 306.
I am without bearings, I could now imagine
where to begin looking. I approach the
nearest door, cannot make the number out,
and knock. “Who is it?” A woman’s voice, or
more precisely a voice that sounds like a
woman’s. Would the burly man lie to me? 

Not only is it near impossible to find the right
room I now believe I am being deceived. I
try another door and I am greeted by
silence. Is the liar sitting silently in
this room, or is he the female impersonator
in the other? Which other? I try to remember
details of the door and the room to aid in
its identification. The door was dark in
color. Many of the doors were dark in color,
although somewhat iridescent. So, when
viewed from certain angles they might seem
darker or lighter or they shimmer in a
filthy sort of manner. 

I remember that inside the room was more of
a mini-warehouse. Poorly lit, or more
precisely what light there was had to filter
between stacked shipping cases and metal
rack assemblys. There was a bed, covered in
briefcase and more equipment, as well as a
dresser, its surface equally filled up. What
kind of equipment? Understanding this would
be a clue to understanding my purpose in
this scenario. What equipment wasn’t in 
boxes was dark, electronic, professional,
enigmatic. Again, understanding the
equipment’s purpose or use would make the
dream less stressful, therefore they must
remain mysterious.

The man’s appearance was another matter. His
face and arms were bare and liquid. They
changed as though distorted by viewing
through textured glass, as in a shower door.
Blurry one moment, a horrid beast the next.
Mostly frozen in the image of an angry burnt
wolf like in a Marshal Arisman painting. 
I am now outside the development, driving
along a highway which borders one side.
There are picketers on the treeless
grassless expanse of dirt between the road
and the building. They are upset at this
blight, and I couldn’t agree more. 

Steering my car into the sideroad my car
confronts a rutted mud hillside where there
should be a driveway. Many shoppers and
pedestrians mill about on the rise which is
the parking lot. My automobile is a sport
utility type, and as there are many normal
automobiles in the lot, I assume that I can
make it up the embankment. My ride is short
as my vehicle sinks into the muddy hill up
to the doorsills. While sinking I lose view
of everyone, everything, and they
presumably, of me. I do dot know if I can
open my door with the car in this
predicament. I am hopelessly late for my
work now, still not sure of that was, and
unequipped to do it in any case.