Skip to main content

Forty One

A retread of familiar ground - an Asda inspired dream, coming two years after I finished working there and moved back to York.

'Am welcomed back to Asda as a Christmas temp (I believe this dream was inspired by a short video of Oli dancing at work that he uploaded to Facebook - he has subsequently been fired for a variety of offenses). I congratulate Lee Whitlock on his promotion to some sort of management type chump and wave to Phil, a man who never worked there but is inexplicably present. The canteen has been replaced with computers, and downstairs the shelves are filled with items I am unfamiliar with. A security team ask me and Hassan (Adam's Karachi-based Uni chum) to round up short people who they want to speak to for 'marketing purposes'. I run around blindly, asking nobody and hoping that security will not notice. Hassan appears to do the same, and we regroup prior to returning to security to discuss our strategy. We will be fired if we do not find 18 people. After exhausting a series of excuses, we reluctantly present our counter to the team. They smile. Hassan's clicker, a small metal tube for counting the number we have trapped/found, reads '18'.'
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sixty Eight

In some sort of wasteland, possibly Malton from urbandead but in reality. The buildings and general lay out of the space appears to be a grid system, dark green, crisscrossing and bisecting the land; it resembles a giant board game. The sky is muted orange, and I have a feeling there is something lurking in the increasing shadows that dusk has introduced. Someone who I am with shows me around their flat. From the window I see abandoned car parks, and in the distance lakes and mountains, though this view is partially obscured by smoke rising from refineries that seem to encircle the town. The light is falling away. No-one is on the street when I am taken to the next house. The view from the window is the other house. Each subsequent place I am shown around offers a view of the preceding property. I am caught in a loop of property viewing, with some unknown menace responsible for the trap I find myself in.
1 comment
Read more

Forty Five

Last night: 'Something wakes me, and I look out the window to see our garden has been territorialized by an unknown neighbour. A sign is on the lawn saying 'Until June/July 2011' (I am not confused by this). There are dog toys spread about the place and a large looking dog who moves around in his sleep as I inspect the garden. Later, inside, I hear the neighbours and their kid discussion technological purchases. I instantly loathe them. I am up at the front room window when a car pulls up and a number of people jump out and run in to the houses opposite. This is quickly followed by a number of police cars and an armed response unit which attacks a door and promptly falls through in to the cellar of one of the buildings. The flashing lights of the cars are an unusual red and purple. There is a lot of shouting and the sound of small arms fire in the distance. Zoe, woken by the commotion, comes to the window. 'What is going on?' she asks. 'They're looking for m...
Post a Comment
Read more

Sixty Nine

'The undercroft of a castle or cathedral. A female friend – blonde, round face, but unrecognizable on waking – is telling me about an amazing man, a prophet no less, who is going to lead her/us to some unspecified promised land. I am obviously sceptical. The undercroft is arranged with a series of desks, as in a Victorian class room (all tightly packed, high, scarred wood). Everyone is wearing a white gown. The class begins, and the students and my friend are subjected to a baffling array of visuals and noises projected across the entirety of the room. Somewhere in the darkness a man is laughing. I move slowly through the flashing lights to the source of the laughter to find Chris Morris, his hair long and curly, is in fact doing all of this as an elaborate joke. I try to explain this to everyone by I am drowned out by the ‘art work’; I run out of the undercroft, aware now that the practical joke was obviously at my expense.'
Post a Comment
Read more