Ready for another installment of notes to brighten your weekend? This one is also based on a dream I had last night that is out of this world. Too soon? Bad joke?
This one goes like this. We lived in a manor house. We being my Mom, sisters and I. For those who are not British, a manor house is the big house in the village or in this case, neighborhood. It is usually occupied by the local aristocrat, the moneyed upper class, lording over the people. Literally. Remember, England was (is?) a feudal system. This note doubles as your history lesson for the day. Lest we forget.
The neighborhood, somewhere in the USA, has since become run down but our house is still nice with well-maintained grounds. I think to myself, in a time of crisis, people can take refuge in our yard, big as it is. We can feed them and be good stewards of our community. So far, so British.
My Mom and sisters are out. I am walking through the house which has dark wood panels, in a very old-fashioned design, with a big banquet hall fit for a king. I start worrying about the cleaning and upkeep of such a large house with mostly empty rooms. Who is going to clean this house, I think as I track dust resting on the wood?
Suddenly I hear movement and I realize that my Mom and sisters have returned. For some reason, I hide in the banquet hall but leave the door cracked open, just.
***Director’s note. Sarah incoming******
I spot Sarah going down the hall, away from me. I duck, and I peep out again for another look. This time she spots me as she doubles back towards the banquet hall. Like a kid’s game of hide and seek, I come out of the room and we start talking. I say to her, you found me.
All of a sudden, I am walking outside, through the grounds, and there’s a festival of sort taking place. There’s an ice cream and electric juice stands, similar to those you find in Middle Eastern shops. Sarah and I recently ate at a Turkish restaurant in the Tysons Corner mall and we both got juice from their homemade electric juicer stand as well. It was ok; the food sucked. The Turks will be upset with me; I counted them as “Middle Eastern” and not “European.” Oh well.
Sarah, out. Stage left. Don’t forget to take a bow.
***End Director’s cut******
There is something disturbingly bizarre about the ice-cream stand though. The containers are empty but the server is wearing the gallon of ice-cream as a glossy, luscious pile of strawberries with a dollop of white cream topping, as if it were a fancy hat. And we are off to the races! Or a wedding? Take your fancy. In a scene straight out of a Stanley Kubrick movie, I am instantly reassured that there is still fresh ice-cream to serve the people.
I decide that our stands are subpar. The juicer looks empty. Looking closely, there are remnants of guava juice. I can see the pink grains stuck on the plastic, sitting stagnant and unappetizing. I think to myself, we need to scrap this stand and get a new one. I imagine multiple juicers, with enticing colored juices, splashing against the sides of the transparent blenders, looking clean and new.
I walk over to another stand. It is hazy for me to remember whether or not Sulafa was there. However, there is a Somali woman (guessing here) working the stand, that I recognize from the Zara store I visited just the other day. I was annoyed at her because she rubbed my dress after removing the security tag and I actually had to say to her, hand over my dress! She was taking so long to hand it back, rubbing it with this glazed look in her eyes, as if seeking an orgasm. Disgusting! She was Muslima and head-scarved. I don’t understand people who think they can fool God by covering up and pretending to be pious, when in reality they do evil things in full view of the public, like this girl!
I then call my bank, Wells Fargo, and apply for a loan. Also and weirdly, Maysa banks there. I intend to use the money for an enterprising purpose. All of a sudden, I get a voicemail from Maysa. Typical, even in dreams, the call goes straight to voicemail rather than ringing like a normal call. How cowardly. She says she is the one who got the loan and is really trying to take care of things. She wants to do the right thing but she needs this infusion of cash to cover her expenses. I realize she is stealing once again and intends to blow the money financing a high class life style rather than use the money for good. I immediately call the bank and cancel the loan. I was going to be stuck paying it while she is out enjoying her “nouveau rich” lifestyle. Where have I seen this movie before? Fool me twice, shame on me. Right, George W. Bush? Well, not this time.
I wake up. I am upset and scared to have had another one of those weird dreams that seem to serve someone else’s purpose. If anything, all indications are, these dreams are at my expense.
While I have your attention, get a load of this. When I called Maysa in Botswana earlier this month, we had an argument because Maysa sweared to me that she was paying in-state tuition at UW-Madison. If that assertion doesn’t prove she’s off her rocker, I don’t know what does! How does she think that a high school gradate from ICSA in Abidjan, Ivory Coast, with an I-20 visa to legally enter the USA, would EVER be charged in-state tuition anywhere in these United States?
Maysa is the very definition of an International student. Even I, who graduated high school in Virginia, did not get in-state until year 3 when I lobbied for it, in person, in front of a committee, after working in WI and paying taxes because I interned in the summer of 1994 for Andersen Consulting. I remember it so well because I used that as my main argument for getting in-state tuition. I told the committee that I contributed to the kitty and paid state taxes, so I should be able to partake. But Maysa, devoid of logic, hare-brained to the max, kept denying the facts. How can anyone believe a word she says?
What happened to me? What did I do to deserve this kind of treatment? Why do good people stand idle while this theft happens in front of their very eyes? How do I protect myself from this? How do I make it stop once and for all? Someone, anyone, I beg you please. Do something to end this misery forever.