One of the first dreams I recorded on this blog, over a year ago, involved me freaking out in a restaurant over poor service. The other night’s dream was similar but instead of devolving into Robert DeNiro, I became Al Pacino…
Longest Wait for Food, Ever
I dreamed that my wife and I were in a restaurant, and while waiting for our tables, we perused a really shoddy, nearly empty arcade (a new theme over the last several weeks that I’ve recognized popping up in my dreams, arcades). We looked around at how pathetic it was and were very pleased to be shown to our tables quickly, so we didn’t get desperate enough to actually attempt to amuse ourselves with the one or two unbroken arcade machines.
We ordered, and waited… time passes funny in a dream. We talked, but I don’t remember the conversation, we waited, but I don’t remember thinking it was taking forever, and I didn’t drift into another dream out of boredom.
Eventually, our waiter said, “I’m really sorry, but my shift’s up.”
We drove him and his bicycle down the road a bit, pulled over and let him out. We almost started to WALK back to the restaurant, got our senses back, and hopped in the car. We drove back to find that our food was boxed and bagged.
“Um, we were gone for 2 minutes after waiting…,” I looked at my watch, “TWO HOURS!! We waited two hours, and were gone for a couple minutes, so yeah, you’re gonna give us our table back.”
The new waiter directed us to the assistant manager. He was sitting behind a counter, and I argued with him. It seems they have a strict policy that requires the table if not being used, and that they were very busy. Meanwhile, the manager stood up and put on a jacket and hat, as if he were about to leave. He was surprisingly tall, and looked somewhat like the character of Gabe from The Office. Tall doesn’t quite explain it, he was head and shoulders above me.
“And just where do you think YOU’RE going?” I asked. I was beyond livid, “Give me… your boss’ name and number, or his business card.” The manager wrote it out and handed it to me. After doing so, he patted me on the head and turned to walk out the door.
“Did you just pat my head?…,” customers were beginning to notice this interaction, and I repeated, full-on Al Pacino-style screaming, “DID JOOOO! JUST PAT! MY HEAD?!”
The manager looked mortified, and he ran out the door. I watched as he walked across the parking lot, lowered my head and did my best Jack Nicholson…
“Wait’ll he gets a load of me.”