This next dream made me wonder why serving food wasn’t a more revered sport.

It took place at a nondescript festival, the food was plentiful

and the sound of Muppet songs filled the night sky, yes, Muppets.

I happened upon one stall, however, and things took a weirder turn.

As I was awaiting my order, a very uppity customer felt impatient;

let’s go with impatient, as that’s the politer of the two adjectives.

She decided to help herself, and of course, the lunch lady didn’t appreciate this gesture.



It was then, her glare could have turned you to stone, and she was so intense,

the Muppets must have been swapped out for generic hard rock band number fifty.

She slammed a slab of, quote, “steak-steak-steak”, onto my plate with wicked authority.

I was taken aback by the absurdity of the whole thing, not even noticing the…um, steak

had an echo to it, of course, I couldn’t hear it over the hard rock anthem.

I was then tuned into the awkwardness part of this scenario, then keenly backed off,



and out of the dream itself.



Also, Barack Obama was there, but it seemed more like he was photo-bombing

than actually contributing anything to my dream, so, he barely deserves this mention.