Same sex workplace harassment

I was in a weird cooking class, somehow associated with the Honda dealership. It was almost like one of those chef shows, where people contested for the approval of some higher up management type. I was not really much into the whole competition, but I was doing my best to put together the meals as prescribed. 

One of my competitors was a black Cajun woman who would sing while knocking out the meals with startling efficiency. I was duly impressed, until I noticed a few items that had been insufficiently cleaned, giving her the edge in her times. 

I made some notes to tell the judges. Tomato sauce on the blender, a giant cheese mess that had dripped behind the stove like some volcanic lava flow--these were things that couldn't go unreported. Never mind that I had a pocketful of unaccounted for raw, marinated meat in my jacket.

So, sometime later I was talking to Reiner. I noticed he was reading over a paper on which I had written some notes. "Oh, great," I thought. Now he was gonna try to rope me into writing for them in some technical position. This was how this kind of thing always went. Once they get a sample of my prose they are hooked. 

I was thinking of how to wiggle out of working for him again, but instead I said, "You know, I have to find a way to still get my hands on Honda swag, now that I no longer work here." I was referring to my black windbreaker, which had previously held the pocketful of meat and Reiner was now dutifully examining.

He motioned me to sit down next to him on the couch. He was presumably mulling over my request while fondling my jacket, running his fingers over the velcro and zippers. I don't know why but this made me sleepy, so I closed my eyes for a minute. Joni Mitchell was playing  (both in real life and in the dream) so this could have contributed to my sleepiness. 

Perhaps Reiner misread the vibe from the mellow music because the next thing I knew he was putting the cat moves on me, creeping up my motionless body and rubbing his chest on mine. 

Part of me was thinking, "Oh, hell, just go with it. How bad could it be?" The rest of me was just disgusted and petrified, so I just froze, pretending to be asleep. 

I was relieved that he withdrew after he didn't get a reaction. He seemed to buy my act, so he went off unconcerned about any possible repercussions for his inappropriate advances. No harm, no foul. I was sleeping, so I couldn't report him, right?

And I didn't. I just went through the rest of the dream feeling a little diminished and deflated. And just, yick. That's all I can say about it. 

I had other things I remember dreaming, but they were being overshadowed by my brain trying to process how I was even going to record this when I woke up later, so great was my self-disgust for having dreamed up the Reiner thing. It was something about a mall cop training academy and my job as a security guard, watching a bridge over a small creek. I kept losing locks to the gate because they would fall in the creek.

"Drain the creek, we'll find 'em all," was my brilliant suggestion.

Not only would we find the locks, but we would never lose another single item to the creek's ravenous appetite. Somehow the suggestion was not deemed acceptable and I found myself at the training academy, presumably to reacquaint myself with proper lock custodianship. 

I had company, a stereotypically fat and bumbling guy who reminded me of the Jerry/Barry/Gary character on Parks and Rec. I really shouldn't binge watch TV shows like that. The characters become part of my consciousness like the real people for whom they become surrogates. 

I am finally awake, I guess, but I'd like to go back to sleep and find a new dream to wash away the lingering distaste from the last one. I can think of plenty of people I would rather be sexually harassed by.

And, seriously, these Honda dreams have got to stop.