Walmart shopping for Sharon (and Dave)

 

In the world of people getting together, someone is always getting shafted while another person trades up, turning in their old lease for a shiny new model. Dave was Sharon's ex-boyfriend, and at one point, I was the new beau, while he was the poor old schmuck who was trying to get back with her. Last night, I dreamed I was in Dave's shoes, and I found myself running around doing errands, trying to win back her affections, while it was apparent that she had moved on and was now with him. 

In my dream, I was at Walmart, shopping for gifts and various sundries for Sharon during the worst time of the year, holiday gift giving season. Due to procrastination, those of us shopping this late in the game found the store shelves bereft of goods and the gift selection severely limited. And as usual, I had put zero thought into it until this very moment, where I found myself staring blankly at the picked over shelves.

I settled on some practical items: cleanser pads, skin care products and the like. I threw in some hosiery for good measure. I had also been tasked with getting some other items, but I kept forgetting what they were, and it would only occur to me after I left the store. I had to go back in multiple times, each time carrying with me the bags from the previous trip.

I finally got everything together, and I put it all into an unwrapped cardboard box. I was on track to make another underwhelming impression with my hastily garnered gifts. I rushed to Sharon's house, my old residence at 149 Sutter Rd in Paradise, where she was living with Dave and with her father, Bob.

Bob was trying to fix something when I arrived, so he was in a foul mood. Some piece of electronics had raised his ire, and he was doing his version of cursing, a kind of Mr Rogers/Ned Flanders "gosh darn heck" fiddle-dee-doo of epithets that wouldn't even show up on an Amish person's radar. If Amish people had radar. 

Dave was in the kitchen, and Sharon was in the living room, about to sing karaoke using my old mixer and speakers as a sound system. The mics were in terrible shape, and the speakers had a buzz from the crappy, unshielded patch cords that snaked around the room under couches and in areas of high foot traffic. 

"I have something for you," I announced, grabbing one of the mics. "Merry Christmas."

Sharon tore into the cardboard box like a hungry pitbull looking for a steak. What she found was more like a can of expired spinach, and her reaction was much like a dog's would have been at receiving an unopened can of vegetables. She looked at it quizzically, sniffed at it a couple of times, and then looked back at me with a blank expression.

The gift was so unremarkable that I can't remember what it was I gave her. Or perhaps, it was so mundane and terrible that I am blocking it out of my consciousness out of sheer embarrassment. But it was bad, and I was certain it was going to turn out to be yet another factor cementing her decision to stay with Dave.

I stepped outside and thought to perhaps run to the liquor store to procure some kind of remedial gift. I was cutting through some apartment buildings when it suddenly occurred to me to check my watch. It was 9:00 AM, and I was 2 hours late for work.

I contemplated the phone call I would have to make to Yuba City Honda explaining why I hadn't shown up. "I'm sick" wouldn't cut it. I hadn't practiced my sick voice, and there had been no preliminary preparation the day before. You have to plan those things a day in advance with a few well-timed sniffles or coughs.

"My car won't start" is another one that was off the table. I'm a mechanic, and a dead battery would only buy me a couple of minutes of lateness, and it certainly wouldn't explain why I'd waited until 9 to call in. I thought about telling them the truth, that I'd simply forgotten what day it was, but that didn't seem like the best plan either.

Fortunately, I woke up at this point, for once glad that my current reality doesn't include all the elements of embarrassment and disappointment that my dream had. It has its own, different failings and areas of lackluster performance, and I guess it's time I got out of bed and started facing up to them for the day.