Hotel Remodeling and Election Campaign

Date: 2/4/2019

By meowstical

The dream I had this morning involved a bunch of politicians and an election coming up. It shifted a couple times to several different but interconnected scenarios. First - there was a lot going on, like I ran a hotel or something? Or was staying in a hotel room? And people kept coming in and using the room’s bathroom and I was like “um, guys, can you leave?? I’m trying to remodel this room, and obviously I can’t work on the bathroom when you’re in the middle of pissing or taking a dump in it.” There were tarps, dust, walls knocked over, etc., as well as a bunch of signs saying the room was under construction, but some rude, entitled jerks just *kept* coming in and using the bathroom anyway. I had to keep asking a cleaning lady (who I’d known since I was a child, and was on very good terms with in the dream) to come clean the bathroom again and again as a favor to me.... Until she got assassinated by one of Trump’s henchmen. I was devastated by the fact that I’d now have to hire a new cleaning lady, one who I wouldn’t know at all and would have a much colder relationship with. Anyway, then I started a conversation messaging President Trump anonymously on my iPad. I tried to play nice at first in order to gather intel that I needed for whatever reason (I just know I was trying to lead a cause that I believed would change the world for the better somehow), but gradually grew more hostile and eventually outright accused him of having ordered the assassination of someone close to me. Then the Secret Service came after me, trying to find and kill me. I had to run and dart into hiding spots trying to avoid them and traverse the huge building I was in to escape. However, I couldn’t figure out how to leave the building, and wasn’t even sure why. I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong. I kept taking the elevator down to the bottom floor, then running out and climbing the large, colorfully lighted escalator placed right in front of the elevator doors. As I did this, I hardly even glanced at the sign painted in green letters on the wall next to it. It became almost a routine: ride the elevator down, either run (if avoiding the Secret Service) or calmly ride up the large escalator, go from floor to floor searching around for an exit, realize I must have passed it, then ride the elevator down and start again from square one. There were small crowds of people commuting to their office jobs riding the elevator up and down as well. After getting out of the elevator, all of them ascended the escalator, too. Until at one point, I saw one or two people holding car keys in their hands step out of the elevator, walk *past* the escalator down a short, broad corridor, then turn right at the end of it, in front of a wall that said “- - - - - > Parking Lot”. A set of glass doors led to a sunny path lined with plants (ferns, bushes of flowers, small palm trees, etc.). I skidded to a stop, stared at the “^ Floor 2” sign on the wall next to the escalator, and finally realized that this was Floor 1, and those glass doors were the exit. Unfortunately, I was already on the escalator leading to Floor 2, and blocked from descending by the thick wall beside it and the crowd of commuters behind me. “Oh my god,” I remarked to the woman behind me. “This is Floor 1!? I’ve been riding down the elevator over and over and going up the escalator to what I *thought* was Floor 1, but has been Floor 2 this *whole* time!!” “Oh, yeah, I know,” she replied, chuckling and rolling her eyes in exasperation at the layout of the building. “I always get mixed up too and think Floor 1 is the basement. It takes me forever to find my car!” Later, after (presumably) escaping the building, I tried to encourage my old Chinese teacher’s students to advocate for some cause that was being voted on as part of the next election. My teacher was supportive and gave me the afternoon to talk about it and provide materials for everyone to work on their own TV ad encouraging others to vote on this. Unfortunately, the class’s project then completely slipped my mind. When I came back on Friday, several days later, I realized I hadn’t left the materials in a place that was accessible to the students, so they hadn’t progressed at all on their projects since I’d last been there. My teacher told them today was the deadline to submit the ad, so nothing could be done about it anymore. Everyone grumbled about how unfair it was and how much they’d wanted to make their ads with the cool technology I’d provided. I felt super bad and made a mental note that next time I stored materials in a separate pocket dimension with the intent of letting other people use them, I should probably leave an opening they could actually access it through. During the time I’d been gone, I saved some baby arctic seals and got into a physical fight with Hillary Clinton for being a bourgeois politician. Someone I’d known back in middle school told me they’d been selling DnD items at the DnD Museum, which was shaped like a sock. She was also the owner of said museum. She told me she’d been making a ton of money, since she’d had a huge customer flow lately. I asked her how she was getting so many customers. She explained that she was being sued by some large company, and the people suing her had left loud music blasting from the museum with the intent of punishing her. Instead, the music had drawn people’s attention and led to more people checking the museum and her wares out, also garnering the museum more support from the community. So basically, the large company’s plan had completely backfired, but they obliviously continued to play the music anyway. She was encouraging her friends who were into anime to come sell anime merch there right now. (This was basically completely irrelevant to the rest of the dream.) One evening, I went to the large, beautiful home of an upper class politician. She’d invited all of her opponents to an elegant party in a gesture of good will and graciousness. I absolutely didn’t want to enter a large building (or any building, really) after having been stuck inside a tower for so long. It had made me claustrophobic and paranoid that I’d be unable to find an exit again. Luckily, the party took place outdoors on her spacious, impossibly emerald green lawn, surrounded by a brown fence. The grass was dark in the night and slightly damp from recent rain. The sky was slightly overcast, but no longer threatening to rain. I heard crickets chirping in the slightly chilly night air, and when I breathed in, the pleasant rich, earthy smell of damp grass filled my lungs. But mainly the bustling and chatter of the party and the light of the colorful paper lamps strung above us held my attention. An old black and white romance movie played from a projector on a screen at the opposite end of the yard, which a number of people were absorbed in watching. Our hostess, the wealthy politician, was making small talk and handing out golden glasses of wine to all the partygoers. Eventually she made her way over to me, one clear glass and one golden goblet of a deep red wine in her hands. We stood on her patio with our upper bodies lit by the glow of the warm light shining through the sliding glass door of her house. She chatted briefly with me about my cause, sipping wine from her glass, then attempted to hand me the gold goblet of wine. She told me it was some fancy red wine from... blah blah blah (I wasn’t really listening, since I didn’t care about wine). I held up my hands (palms outward) and told her no thank you, I didn’t drink wine. She insisted. I debated taking a few sips just to be polite - after all, I didn’t want to cause offense to someone who was kind enough to throw a party like this in spite of our differences; I couldn’t even imagine most politicians of her class doing that. I half reached my hand out, hesitating, and she happily thrust the goblet into my hand and walked off to chat with someone else. I swirled the wine around - it was a tiny bit more viscous than I’d expected - and made a face. It smelled rich but sort of acidic, and the dark color reminded me of blood. My stomach churned at the thought of drinking it. I glanced around to make sure the politician and her husband weren’t watching, then dumped the wine out on the lawn. I placed the empty golden glass on the buffet table and headed in the direction of the movie screen to check out what everyone was watching. As it turned out, it was a good thing I didn’t drink the wine, since it was an extremely potent poison. People around me (who probably hadn’t even liked the wine, honestly, and just tried to appreciate it in order to appear refined) suddenly started dropping dead. Those around them began screaming and tried to run, but quickly fell to the ground convulsing and foaming at the mouth. The politician smirked as she watched. Her husband came out of their house to help clean up the bodies. I made my way over to the back gate of their yard. As I quietly slipped through it out into the night, I glanced back over my shoulder for a brief moment. The woman who’d acted so charming earlier in the evening stared after me with an expression of pure unconcealed fury on her face, displeased that I’d escaped from her. After leaving the Chinese classroom (which was actually not a room, but more of a square-ish decorated space surrounded by flowers and big cute purple mushrooms in a large green meadow) on Friday afternoon, I went to Town Hall (?) to submit my TV advertisement. The building was somewhat squat and made out of dark mahogany wood. It had a nice sappy, wood-like smell to it. Thankfully, it wasn’t large at all - it only consisted of a few rooms - and only had one floor, unlike the tower that had contained the hotel. The young woman at the desk apologized and told me she’d be free in just a second. She had short brown hair and spoke in a perky, cheerful voice. She was pretty cute. I glanced around the room as I waited. There was a pretty carving of a tree with many leaves on the door to the waiting room. I was so busy admiring it that it took me a moment to adjust my focus to the sign hanging above it, which read, “ATTENTION: ANYONE SUBMITTING A CONTROVERSIAL AD IS SUBJECT TO EXECUTION, AT THE SOLE DISCRETION OF THE MAYOR.” I broke into a nervous sweat and stared down at the VHS tape in my hand. I knew the cause I was advocating for wouldn’t be popular with most politicians - and definitely not with the kind who’d threaten to execute someone for expressing views contradictory to theirs. Should I really go through with this? If they caught my ad in time, it wouldn’t even air, and I’d risk being killed for nothing. “Okay, sorry for the wait! How can I help you?” asked the woman at the desk. Before I could come to a decision, I woke up.