So I'm back in high school (I'm 20. This is unnecessary and humiliating).
I suppose I was picking up classes in order to qualify better for something in University (that has been on my mind lately; I do almost nothing for a good majority of the week in terms of financial or educational success so maybe I should fill that time with a scholastic return). Adam (friend of mine) is there. We're in a Hospitality class - let me be clear now that I would never take hospitality. The last thing I want to know is how to:
A. serve people in a shitty restaurant as a Maitre' d, taking all the flack from uptight, perturbed customers because their steak isn't exactly 140.38 degrees centigrade.
B. Entertain guests at any gathering whatsoever, because I hate people and the less acquainted and polite I am, the better.
Needless to say I don't really belong in this class. The teacher (who looks suspiciously like the father from That 70's show...which is another thing I hate; Mila Kunis and Ashton Kutcher have a "relationship" like a midget has a "height issue") hands us menus, and we go off into a big restaurant-style room.
There is an asian man here who promptly begins to urinate down his leg, making small stains on the floor as he rushes for the bathroom in embarrassment. We all laugh, but I go to check because apparently in my dreams, I'm a humanitarian. Must be in backwards-land or something. The fellow tells me not to tell anyone that he peed himself; redundant since everyone saw it anyway. But I told him I wouldn't, and tried unsuccessfully to find a stall for myself (they all had piss in them...I might have a problem).
There is a long space here with nothing I can recall. I'm in the hallway of my old school, standing around, waiting for something that probably never came because isn't that always how dreams work. There are several people from my classes strewn about, some for whom I don't give a fuck or a fist. I might have climbed stairs at some point.
We return to the Hospitality room as before. This is after my typical "Can't find my fucking class" routine I go through almost every time I have a dream about high school. It's no longer a bother, because it happens so frequently, so I suppose my dream-self doesn't give his last shit about being punctual anymore. Minutes of me running around the various floors and castle windows (that are native to this sequence and only appear here). The teacher has provided us with a box on wheels, full of smaller boxes that are full of magic tricks. The room is white carpet; we're supposed to be giving some sort of demonstration to other students. The boxes are black with purple designs, stars if I remember correctly. I immediately spill every box onto the floor, and trip over them several times because, naturally, they're invisible unless they're face-up. The professor, in some sort of saving-face moment, ribs me about being unfit for the class; for some reason, it gets to me pretty effectively.
Then I announce that I'm dropping the course. I had thought about it earlier, but I was worried that I had no other classes with Adam, and it has been a while since I've seen him so I wouldn't want to spoil it. Somehow I go from a standing position to on my side, trying to crawl at the door. The teacher, sensing that I'm vexed, proceeds to defame me; he accuses me of "flinging shit" in the bathroom earlier in the day (no doubt because I went in there to check on that asian man) and pistol-whipping another student, which is absurd to me because I don't even have a gun license. He then says "Exactly"; implying that I, in perfect Gang-star fashion, have procured this firearm illegally, as all black people do. This is so frustrating that I grab his pant leg and attempt to knock him over, unsuccessfully.
Then I woke up.
Interpretation is welcome.
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