I started dating this lovely gentleman named Rob recently, and I talk about him all the time at work...to everyone (blush) and the owner (in his 70's, his brother in his 80's and my
parts manager 35 year old -Scorpio) all want to what they refer to as "interview" him. They love me like family and they want to see if he's all the things I've been telling them about.
UPDATE: HE WAS GAY. HE WAS A BEAUTIFUL, FUNNY MAN WHO WAS 35 AND OBVIOUSLY STILL IN DENIAL. IF YOU'RE CLOSE TO ME, YOU KNOW WHAT'S UP. HAHA
Ok, here's my dream:
I'm at work. I'm behind the cashier counter, standing in between the two yellowing, early 90s computer monitors. Alyssa is to my left with her back facing the wall and Mike Leibold is leaning against the small glass display case facing me to my right.
I see just glimpses of Rob walking towards us from behind the Fox Eyewear display case. All four sides are transparent in reality, but now the back side (facing me) is a black and textured thin metal door (basically like the storage cabinet that sits just below the case.) The case, which normally has four shelves of sunglasses is empty.
Out of nowhere, my aunts Amber and Vanessa are standing in the t-shirt section. Rob has somehow teleported over to the corner where my hats are displayed neatly.
My aunts are kind of swarming him, my aunt Amber is the pushiest.
Rob is really pushed into the corner and I worry about him getting hurt by my slat wall pegs, but I keep letting them "inspect" him.
My mom is there suddenly and she's pushing between Amber and Vanessa and as she get's closer, I start listing off all of his attractive features. It's almost animalistic, the way they view his symmetry (and I assume for future, attractive, successful generations). I list off: Light eyes, Dark Hair, Good Skin, Good Build, Tall, Muscular and Masculine jawline and straight teeth (just to name a few). My mom tells him to show her his teeth just to make sure.
I'm behind the counter again and Mike says to me, "So that's you're new husband, eh?" I smile slightly, a little embarrassed. "We're going to check his credit and do a background check."
I get a panicked feeling in my stomach and (I'm not sure exactly what I said, but it was along the lines of, "No, trust me, he's good."
I still feel uneasy thinking about the possibility of them checking in the future.
Then Rob says, "you can only run a background check if you have the person's Social Security Number."
His standing just out of my view again, shielded by the Fox display case. I can't see his facial expressions but he sounds firm, but not overly aggressive.
I'm leading Rob back through my department and I'm telling him about what I do: buy and sell apparel and accessories.
As we walk, he sees something to his left and breaks away from being beside me and walks behind the luggage display. I watch him briefly, wondering exactly what could have caught a non-bike rider's eye.
I turn and continue walking towards the parts counter and there is a kid (probably 17-22) walking slowly, almost zombie-like. His eyes are intensely fixed on me.
He walks directly into my path. I casually continue to keep my even pace, moving to my right as to not collide.
I look to my left and I can see Rob by the bike locks. His body coming in and out of view.
The kid is right in front of me now. His white, stained tee shirt has a yellow stain just above his collarbone to my left (his right) and there are cigarette burns at the bottom right hem line.
He walks right up to me and puffs up his chest so it's touching my chin.
He asks me if I'll go have coffee with him sometime. The way he asks is studdery and the words are hard for me to understand.
I say something mean (not sure what) and he gets pissed.
He moves towards me, aggressively and I push against his chest. I can feel the grit on the surface and the moist heat of his sweat beneath the stained white cotton.
He says something to the effect of, "don't fucking touch me" and I tell him to back off or I'll hit him. He stares me directly in the face and stands his ground, not looking intimidated in the least.
I pull my right hand up and slap his cheek in a kind of half-ass strike. Just enough to make my palm sting a little.
He immediately grabs my throat with his right hand and squeezes so hard I can feel the tendons on the left side of my neck being plucked by his solid grip.
I reach for him, I stretch my right hand as far as I can and I don't even come close to making contact. I am frozen, unable to escape, and all I can do is grasp at the air separating us.
Then I woke up.