I am showering in the back of a truck that has been rigged up to be some sort of camper. It looks like it is actually just a house shower secured loosely in the bed of a truck. I have no clue how it's actually operating; the only thing I'm concerned with is how every time I shift my weight to the front of the shower, the truck tips up on two wheels and swivels around wildly. I can't control where it goes well enough to prevent the truck from smashing into a nearby parked car. Because I am apparently showering in the back of a truck parked in a big parking lot.
I get out to assess the damage, and see that I've left two broad, black dent marks in some grey minivan. At that moment, Chris Wage — a Nashville blogger I've never met (this makes two times I've dreamt about bloggers I've never met, cementing my dorkitude for all the world to survey ... as well as teaching me a lesson about reading blogs right before bed) walks up to me, dressed in a dull, grey business suit, and proceeds to flip out over what I've done to his van.
This is some kind of bizarro Chris Wage, though — one who looks nothing like the pictures of Chris I've seen on his Flickr. Bizarro Chris has tightly permed ringlets encircling his extremely round head, and a red '70s mustache and big, tinted '70s glasses. He finishes his freak-out and the goes away.
I get the sense that I'm there preparing for a competition.
An older couple comes out and looks at the van and has a much milder freakout than Chris. Apparently it's their van I've smashed into, not Chris'. Or maybe they all own the van.
By that time I had stopped feeling bad about it.