I sneak some brownies, avoid the human shredder and try to solve Ann Perkins' rat problem

I was dreaming that I was in a customer's car at at, you guessed it, YC Honda. It was a late 90s CR-V or some equivalent.  I needed to access the very rear area, where they had a lot of personal items in tow: clothing, books, papers and tray of delicious looking brownies. I made note that the brownie tray was completely full, and this disappointed me because it meant I wouldn't be able to sneak any without risk of it being detected. 

But as luck would have it, the car came back for several visits and on one of these visits there was some activity on the brownie tray. Someone had eaten a few portions of the squares from the left side and the right side. This was perfect! I started whittling away at the least noticeable side, shaving off just enough to go unnoticed. 

But like a late night refrigerator raid, where you start incrementally removing tiny portions of a cheesecake and making justifications for each bite, I found that I needed to keep going until I had removed a substantial portion. 

No matter, I thought, it served them right for leaving it in the car day after day. It wasn't any worse than changing their radio station while on a test drive, and less obvious, since they would probably not figure it out right away.

Later on, I found myself in Chico. But this version of Chico had a very weird manufactured home motif. All the restaurants and bars were located in the middle of what would be the Avenues. There were no trees, and the whole place looked like a run down temporary housing development. 

Someone suggested that we go to a bar, so I reluctantly agreed. But there was an incredibly long line, stretching for blocks, just to get into a standing room only situation at some piece of crap version of a long-time Chico establishment, now housed in this double wide mobile.

"Not worth it," I told my friend. "You know what they have in there? A shredder. All these people are lined up to go in and after waiting for an hour or two, when they finally get to go in, they are just going to get shredded by these giant steel grates. Ker-Shwang! Ker-Shwang! Ker-Shwang!" I made the sound of two giant sets of claw like teeth meshing and decimating row after row of humans.

We opted out, after my somber assessment, and sought refuge in a nearby mobile home. It was occupied by Ann Perkins, a lovely character on Parks and Recreation, a TV show I just recently finished binge-watching. 

There was a pizza on the counter and some salad in a plastic container. She offered us a meal, which we graciously accepted as we tried to find room on her one tiny couch. There was a bit of a mess, as she had a child who left the usual amount of Doritos and other snack debris on the carpet. He was fixated on his video game, which was also pretty much normal.

But there was an unfortunate mouse/rat problem. One particularly bold little asshole of a mouse made his way to the salad and started helping himself, right as Ann was attempting to serve us. This would not do. Up from the couch I sprang.

"I'm gonna do a little redecorating," I said, as I grabbed some handy two by fours and placed a barricade over a sizable crack at the baseboard of one of the walls. "This is obviously where the little fucker is coming in," I opined. However, noting the debris from her video game playing child, I gently chided Ann about perhaps taking a little better care of the carpet.

The mouse came back in a matter of minutes and this pissed me off further, so I set out to find the owner or landlady of her mobile in order to set this business straight. She was going to get an earful from me. 

Ann Perkins was delighted to see me taking such a firm stand and I could tell I was scoring points with my "I'm gonna fix your rodent problem" superhero approach. 

I went about the neighborhood, finally locating the owner's apartment, but it was security gated and I couldn't get in. A tenant leaving the building let the door slam as I tried to make my way in.

"Aww, come on," I begged, "I need to see the landlady about one of her units." 

The woman looked at me, as if she was reconsidering letting me in, but the result was still a no. 

Fine! I gave up after exhausting my search for another way in to her 4th floor apartment and went back to Ann's place. I told her the story of my failed crusade, but vowed to stay on the case until it was resolved. 

It was at this point that I found myself on her crowded couch again. As I gently touched her arm, attempting an appropriate yet engaging level of body contact, she leaned in responsively. Further, our hands touched briefly, then remained in contact as I noticed her leg was winding its way through the crook of my knee. 

"You're cuddly!" I declared, having no reason to hold back my rather simple observation at that point. 

We leaned even closer to one another as I reaffirmed my commitment to fixing her rodent issue, having no other real selling points for my actions at this point. But it did look like she was pretty receptive to making out with me, so I had pretty high hopes that this was going to happen at some point.

Of course it didn't. One thing or another brought me out of the dream gradually and, although things were left on a pretty good note with Ann, ultimately it will have to wait for next time.