Last night I dreamed I was being held hostage in a car full of salesmen. They were used car salesmen, the kind who wear polyester pants with short sleeved shirts covered in sweat stains in the underarms region. They also thought they were involved in espionage. They had promised me overtime pay if I would just stick with them long enough to get to Idaho (yeah, I know, right?) and deliver the “package” they had been given. After something like 17 hours in the car, I’d had enough. I yelled at them for about 5 miles, finally got them to pull over and let me out in the middle of nowhere; where it just so happened that a girl I knew from high school lived. I convinced the girl’s mom to let me borrow a car, which she thoughtfully stocked full of blueberry muffins, and I finally headed home.
I wonder if this means I’m not looking forward to the 10 hour drive ahead of us tomorrow?
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