A Day in the Life of a Lower Class Worker (Final)

Lonlieness

The next scene I remember was a bar. A familiar sight within or without a dream. A short drink stood before me, begging me to end its existence. But I was abnormally reticent to do so. Even within a world of my own creation I was scared to lose too much money too quickly. So I drank it down slowly.
Next to me sat a shade of a woman. Dark and mysterious she was. Her eyes were clouded in darkness and only the slightest glimpses of green flashed through whenever the light struck her just right. Her hair was the shade of the desert when the sun was just setting – a deep dark brown.
But now the background of this absurd interaction was starting to break down. The liquor wall collapsed and behind it there was a rushing stampede of wild boars. The liquid in my glass shook with the impact of each of their hooves. But still I persisted. ‘Could I get you something to drink?’ I asked the strange woman who came in under the cover of night and never left it.
‘Sure,’ she replied. ‘I’m just having a Martini. Dry. Very dry.’
I waved to the bartender, who I felt I had known my entire life, but who in reality I had only known this night. He made the drink specified and she began to gulp it down. But I felt my own throat begin to grow dry as I watched her drink her own blessed drink. And those damn buffalo wouldn’t stop stampeding. Or were they bison? Fuck it, I couldn’t remember. Something kept running in the background and ruining everything.
‘So what brings you here?’ I asked rather cliche-ly.
‘Nothing much. Just looking for an escape. You?’
I stirred my drink with my index finger and stared contemplatively out at what used to be the back wall of the bar.
‘Drinks. I guess. I’ve given up on escaping anything.’
‘You really ought to escape, you know. It could be good for you.’
I turned to her. She was sitting on my left. At that moment the left wall flew inwards and a clumsily put together rocket was about to take off. I knew it was clumsily put together because there were about twenty people still on it welding things together. And also it was taking off about fifty feet away from a bar.
‘What the hell do you know about what I should do?’ I asked, ignoring the imminent distraction.
‘Well, I don’t really know what you should do. But I know what i would do if I were in your position. That’s all the advice anyone can really give, cant they?’
‘Yeah, I guess you’re right.’ The rocket was taking off now and all the people who were adding the final touches were thrown off in a blast of fire. I gazed down at my drink and noticed it was empty. I felt that it was probably a sensible time to head home then.
‘Hey,’ I started as I got out of my chair and put on my coat, ‘you wanna hang out some time? Like on a date or something?’
‘Nah, I’m good thanks,’ replied my vision of an angel. I turned to go and then I realised one last thing.
‘Hang on a minute. Isn’t this my fucking dream? Why would I ever have someone reject me in my own fucking dream?’
‘Listen, I don’t expect you to remember this but I’m simply a drunken representation of your own subconscious. You’re so unsure of yourself that even in your wild reality you could never get a date. Well I’m here to tell you to grow the fuck up. You’re not perfect, and no one you meet will ever be perfect. Quit spending so much time finding perfect people and just try to find someone decent. You worthless sack of shit.’
Then the last thing I remember is the wild boars charging towards us and me saying ‘well that’s not exactly fair isn’t it.’
And then my sexy subconscious replied ‘nothing is.’
And then we were both stampeded by some sort of an animal.
And then I woke up. Sweating like a pig. And I wrote down as much of what I remembered as I could.
And then I had to leave for work.
Fuck, man, I had been woken up by a stampede. My usual alarm hadn’t gone off and I was awake at a point in time where if I left immediately then I’d still end up twenty minutes late to work. So I rushed into the bathroom and threw on my discarded clothes from that morning and jumped straight into the car, not bothering to make any food for then or for later. The good news was that I would probably be the first to finish lunch, since I had none, and so I would get home early enough to make some dinner if I felt like eating at that time.
I quickly checked that my tyre pressure hadn’t gone down that much during the little dream-time stint and was glad to see that they were at a perfectly acceptable pressure. Well, they were at least good enough to keep the cops off me for another night. I slammed down on the accelerator and off I drove to work.
And thus another day started just as it had twenty-four hours before. Horribly.


When I got home that night I looked at what I had written and decided that more context had to lay around the absurd dream I had had. Perhaps then it would make more sense. But, now, having reviewed everything that was happening in my life at that time I can confidently say that none of it makes any sense to me.
Why must people suffer so in order to deliver marble kitchen tops?
Why do workers always betray their fellow workers first and their managers last?
Why is alcohol and cigarettes so discouraged when they are the only ways to simulate what humans are supposed to feel when fulfilled?
Why are dreams so fucking ambiguous?
Man, I really wish I had some answers for any of these questions. But unfortunately all I have is more questions. But hey – that’s life.

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