This one is a bit jumbled and short, since I am having a hard time remembering it clearly and am updating from the library. It isn't as interesting as most of my dreams, but the feelings and colors and tastes were so vivid I have to get it out, even knowing full well none of these attributes is easily conveyed in writing.
I'm sitting in a huge theater waiting for a movie to start. My family sits next to me, but their ages are all messed up; my oldest sister is a baby, my little brother is a teen, my parents as young as me.
The room is at least four times the size of a regular theater, and includes a balcony section - very few seats are open. I am not very excited about the new movie, some action craptacular, but it is greatly anticipated by the crowd.
Unfortunately for me and everyone else involved there is something wrong with the reel, and after sitting in the dark for half an hour, they start to run another movie to keep the audience occupied while they replace the film.
Everyone is getting pissed, but is sitting there taking it as they show movie after movie, none of which are the one they paid to come in and see. Aliens III was one of them.
I get tired of waiting and go out to the ticket kiosk in the center of the cinema.
I don't even ask for my money back, I just ask if I can have some kind of movie pass that will let me see the same movie at a later date, when it is actually working. The ticket agent refuses, and then the manager, and I am livid. Movies are frikken expensive and they can't even show me the one I paid to see. They just shrug, but eventually they give in and bring out this huge plastic barrel with a small hole cut in the top. Some other patrons have come out to support my complaints and they are given the chance to reach in the barrel and pull out a card. Some are two for one passes, some are just random business cards, and very few are actually free movie passes. Only one out of twenty-or so people gets one of the free passes, and in a rage I pick the barrel up and dump it on the floor. People start scooping up passes, swooping by like seagulls in a dump.
The manager, a skinny twenty-something jerk, starts yelling at me, and I leap over the counter and jam his face into a half-eaten cream pie that sits inexplicably on the counter. I grab the cash draw out of the register, and taking a stack of twenties, make a dash for the exit, throwing the rest of the money in the air behind me to cause confusion and aid in my escape.
I run outside to the parking lot and dive headfirst through the passenger window of a white SUV. A bronze colored sedan drives by and the girls in the back notice me. I wave and their looks of concern vanish, as if it is unthinkable that a car theif would be polite.
I reach under the steering column and tear the panel off easily, and then yank down the ignition wires. I touch them together, but can't get the car to start, keep trying, keep failing. Their are four black and four red and I have to match to similair colors together, but I don't know which ones. I can't get it started, but the reality of my dream has a hiccup and suddenly I am driving off.
I'm cruising through the night life of a city that reminds me of Adams Morgan near D.C. I have the vague feeling that cops are after me, but I am not too concerned.
I stop at a Hispanic pastry shop that has an advert on the window explaining the specialty of the store, which is telling someone's fortune by rearranging sticky buns.
I enter and politely ask the matronly old Mexican woman to tell my fortune. I put a twenty on the counter and tell her to keep the change; she smiles in gratitude. She pulls out a hexagon of sweet buns and I am temporarily upset that they are not chocolate covered like on the advertisement. Someone behind me clears their throat politely and I turn to see a woman dressed like a British police officer, twirling a billy club and all. I ask if I can have my fortune read before going to jail and she consents. The Mexican lady starts moving the buns around and I grab one and eat it. The taste is incredibly real. I apologize to the officer and lady before throwing a chair through the plate glass window and running out into the street. I look behind me, but no one follows.
Then I woke up.
Not much, like I said, but there is a particularly cool dream that I have to take the time to write down correctly before I can post it. This one is still odd, as I am noticing a pattern of distruction and antisocial behavior in my dream self. Must have a lot of rage. There was a scene where my mother is complaining about my brother's skateboard, which has a deck whose images magically change everytime you grind, but I don't remember where it belongs in the dream.
I promise better in two days.