Who needs college when there's Jenny McCarthy?
I am really behind on dream posting. This is from a couple of days ago. I dreamt that I was at Al's, but there was a new manager, and I was effing up everything that I touched. All the knowledge I had had been stripped from my mind - I didn't know what clefs instruments read, I couldn't read a tenor clef, I couldn't work a cash register, and I couldn't turn on any lights. I stood in the dark pressing buttons on the cash register, and the receipt was in a shard of streetlight and just kept coming out wrong. I kept voiding everything, and the manager kept yelling at me. The store was dark, but it was fully staffed with strangers. People gathered around after their shift and I chit-chatted with another employee. The manager walked up to the back counter - which was still the actual back institutional sales counter but was located in a restaurant back room of some sort - and set down the botched up receipt and made a remark. I was fearing that he was about to fire me. He said something quietly that sounded like, "Get the hell out," but I didn't really understand him and I was afraid to ask him to repeat it. He turned to go, but I stood frozen. After a second someone said, "I thought he was going to fire you." Another said, "He told us that he was, so I don't really understand." I was livid that he had gone behind my back. I threw open a back door I've never seen before and stomped out into the rain. I am sloshing across the parking lot when a tall blonde asks me what the matter is. She's partly a character named Lane from Curious Wine, and the rest of her is Jenny McCarthy. I go into the spiel about my boss and the manager being dicks and gossiping about me and she says, "You should come work for me." And I return jokingly, "Yeah, personal assistant to Jenny McCarthy might look really good on a resume." She smiles and looks at me hard. "Really?" I realize that she is offering me a job. I realize I'm about to get fired anyway. "Yeah," I say, summoning my courage and tromping through the downpour to where she's standing under the awning. "Great! You can start tonight!" she says, and my gut sinks in horror as I realize that I will now have to blow off my next shift at Al's because she's Jenny McCarthy. She starts circling things in a planner and looks at me and hands me an umbrella. "First, you hold this umbrella for me while I get to my SUV," she says, and points to a big silver tank of a truck. I realize I have no idea what a "personal assistant" position entails. "You'll do fine," she assures me, reading my mind. I scurry along with her, but keeping the blue umbrella centered over her proves challenging. Then I'm back at Al's, and the unhappy group is surrounding me, and I'm sweating and trying to explain why I blew off my shift.