Dreams

I am currently hiding under my covers from the cold air coming out of my AC vent. I just drank an Emergen-C and an orange juice slushy. That's right. I've come down with... something.

I never remember my dreams, but my 3.5 hour nap this morning/afternoon concluded with a rather terrifying one that I remember in greater detail than most.

I was back at Chick-fil-A. Not dining, but working. Lots had changed since I had worked there last. The menu was all backwards and the cash registers had digressed in technological development. Despite my frustration over not being able to figure out the new (or ancient) system I was trying to greet guests in the usual, cheerful, Chickfila style.

"Can I help you?" I said to the next lady in line. "I mean, serve you?"

For description's sake, she was a rather large woman with shoulder length, stringy, brown hair. She was wearing a pink, sleeveless shirt. Her son was also on the big side and wore very round glasses.

The lady started placing her order, then all of the sudden, she and her son were behind the counter pointing at the menu with one hand and dragging their trays along in the other. I was pretty sure that in the six months I had been gone, this had not become standard procedure. However, I went along with it (customer's always right, right?). Eventually she started getting her own food, and heading back into the kitchen area. I said to a coworker, "What is she doing? Someone needs to stop that lady!" I turned around back to the front desk and figured I would go ahead and help the next guest, seeing how this lady was acting way out of hand. The next guest was a nice lady, but confused as to what she wanted and her accent wasn't helping much. "I want a number 9 on wheat bread."

Wheat bread... wheat bread... I found some button on the touch screen for bread choices, but the font was so small I could hardly read it. Who designs these things?! If I had been truly thinking, a number 9 is a chicken salad sandwich meal, which already comes on wheat bread. Apparently that part of the menu had not changed. However, I wasn't thinking very clearly and continued to search for the camouflaged button.

Her food was brought out on a tray as I wrapped up her order. Suddenly, Miss Do-it-Yourself was back. She shoved her way to the front of the line and grabbed the tray sitting in front of me. I quickly grabbed the other side of the tray, initiating a tug-of-war, and said "What are you doing? This isn't your food!"

She was mad. Really mad. She threw down her side of the tray, and started asking for a manager. I wasn't worried about what she would say to him, because I knew her story was so ridiculous, and I was in the right.

Eventually, she stormed off.

A little while later she was back. Still mad. Apparently, a motorcycle was her means of transportation. She barged in, her son still at her side, took off her helmet, and threw it at me. It was a rather large helmet... about 5 feet long. My friend/coworker went to block the helmet from hitting me with the intention of disposing of it when I said, "wait, I need to hide behind that thing!" While all this was happening, FBI agents began crashing through the windows from five different corners of the building. They could have just used the doors, now that I think about it. They instantly began holding customers under suspicion.

The lady yelled at me and said "You better run while you have your chance!" The statement only made sense at the time.

I figured that while the lady obviously had a loose screw, she was probably right. I patted my pockets to make sure I had my keys, my wallet, and my phone (three things I never carry in my pockets all at once) and squeezed past two of the FBI agents, out through a whole in the wall.

Where was my car? Though there were only a few customers inside, the parking lot was jammed. I could see the agents' charcoal-colored Dodge Chargers scattered throughout the lot. I was running around the building as fast as I could, but felt as though I was running under water. Still couldn't find my little black Jetta. Finally, after I had made a complete circle, there she was. I've always thought Jettas were cute cars, but now she looked adorable.

Before I knew it, I was pulling out onto the main road. While I was an employee at this particular CFA, I was totally unfamiliar with the roads. I followed the signs to the nearest highway, going as fast as I could without breaking the law. "North. I just have to start heading north." I made it on the north bound highway. I didn't want to call my parents cause I didn't want them to worry. I wasn't in trouble, but I sorta was... running for my life? I would have kept accelerating, but right after I got on the highway, I saw an accident up ahead... on both sides of the road, leaving only the middle lane open. I had to get past both sides of flashing lights without getting caught. I decided this would be a good time to call my dad. I hit the speed dial and suddenly heard the second half of the church's answering machine. A section of the message started repeating itself. Not good.

All at once, my phone started vibrating. I opened my eyes, and was never so happy to be woken up by a text. It was from my dad. The end.