Confidential Briefing

I dreamed that I was at the theater and it was unusually crowded and bustling.  There had just been a sensory-friendly student matinee (which was no small feat for the Victorian lesbian thriller...).  There were patrons, actors, and staff streaming the hallways.

I was trying to find our executive director, and spotted her in one of our odd, glass-enclosed offices (think fishbowl, but more cramped and less stylish).  The room was crammed with people; some were sitting on the floor or leaning on the wall.  I thought I could sidle in and ask her my question, but the door was locked.  I tried the other door, and was able to sneak in.

It was only then that I noticed who was among the crowd:  Donald Trump.*  He was at the theater, apparently, to receive a confidential briefing.  One of his staffers whispered to me that I had to stay silent, and that they'd already swept the room for bugs, and they'd been able to get a secure phone line.

The noise and bustle in the hall increased, and it was getting harder to hear the discussion, and nearly impossible to hear the voices of those on the phone.  Then we all started to realize that there was some order in the bustle outside, that it wasn't random.  The voices converged, and we could hear that everyone outside, with one voice, were singing "All we are saying is give peace a chance."

I laughed out loud, and Trump and his staff were furious, rising to leave.

As everyone dispersed, our executive director said, "Come see me later, please."  I said, "Am I fired?"  She said, "Well, we all know we didn't hire you for your poker face."  I wasn't sorry for laughing, though.  I wished I had joined the singing.







*Trump had grown his hair into a mullet, and had it pulled back in a greasy ponytail.  He looked as skeevy as he is.

Another day at work

  

I dreamed that I was at the theater[1], working, when a colleague came to see me, to remind me that I had an upcoming interview for the role of Bob Brustein’s (the Founding Artistic Director of the A.R.T.) executive assistant.  I was in an office crowded with not-office furniture.  Though I had no recollection of scheduling the interview, I pretended I was all set for it.  My colleague said, “You’re not wearing that, though.  When are you changing?”  I assured her that I was about to change into something more appropriate, and started going through the wardrobes and closets to find something to change into.[2]  I chose my outfit:  a white, scoop-neck t-shirt, a black flowy skirt, and an aqua vinyl blazer.[3]

                On my way to the interview, I got side-tracked.  DEVO was hosting a huge event, and there were cloth-covered tables stacked with bottles of champagne, and crowds of people mingling.  I found a DEVO colleague, and asked her what was going on.  She said, “It’s for Harvard Business School – help yourself!  They’ll never notice.”  I grabbed a class of wine and weaved through the crowd.

                By the time I got to Bob’s office, I was more than twenty minutes late.  We had a brief but pleasant conversation, and agreed to reschedule for another time, since our interview had been so abbreviated.  (I was so embarrassed about being so late, but tried to just focus on the conversation.)

                As I headed back to the theater, I passed through three enormous wood-paneled ballrooms, with wide doorways connecting each.  There were five or six guys in there, playing an unrecognizable and complicated game, involving throwing balls and Frisbees back and forth to one another, and occasionally ricocheting them against the walls.  The wood-paneling – once elegant – was chipped and splintering.  I thought to tell them to knock it off, but remembered that we had an upcoming capital renovation, and figured those rooms would be demolished as part of that.

                Suddenly, the theater doors opened and patrons started pouring out of the theater; I hadn’t even realized there was a matinee going on.  Bob Brustein came out of the theater, and beckoned me into an office.  Kelsey Grammer joined us there, and Bob and Kelsey spoke for a while about casting for Finding Neverland.  Kelsey was insistent that it was important to find a big-name star, in order to attract families to come to the show.  Bob handed me some crumpled material and a ripped off strip of paper, and asked that I ensure that my colleague, T, got the items.  I set off to find an inter-office envelope.

                I passed through another office, crowded with staff, and stopped to listen:  The box office manager and the producer were having a debate.  The producer was saying, “There’s absolutely no way.” The box office manager was saying, “Don’t be ridiculous.  It’s really good, and you should give it a shot.”  It turned out that he was trying to convince her to watch The Great Muppet Caper, and DB was having none of it, insisting that the first Muppet Movie was so bad that she certainly wasn’t going to watch a sequel.  I joined him in trying to persuade her to give The Great Muppet Caper a viewing, but did caution her that it wasn’t nearly as good as the first.[4]  I remembered that I was supposed to be finding an envelope, and excused myself from the debate.

                I went into the next room; it was nearly empty, but there was a shoe-box on the floor.  I decided that could be a reasonable stand-in for an interoffice envelope, and dropped the items from Bob into the box.  Before I closed it up, though, I noticed there was already stuff in there.  I turned on the overhead light, and saw that the box had lots of tiny figurines[5] -- too many to just put in my pockets – so I left the box behind, and continued my search for an envelope.

                I had a sudden revelation:  I didn’t want to be Bob’s assistant.  I like my job as it is.  I decided that I had to drop everything, go home, and draft a letter to Bob (with copies to HR) to let them know I was withdrawing my candidacy.  As I was rushing back to my apartment, I passed a parade of huge inflated floats[6] and laughed, assuming that the props department was up to hijinks.  I got to my building, struggled to find the right key to open the front door, and climbed the narrow, twisting stairway to my apartment.  Before I could get my apartment door unlocked, I woke up.

                Never did find an envelope!

               

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[1] The theater didn’t resemble the theater I actually work at in any way.

[2]In real life, I just gave away about 7 pairs of business-attire trousers, since I never wear them anymore.

[3] In real life, I just bought a Kate Spade bag at TJ Maxx that is aqua vinyl, and I love it.  It would be a hideous blazer, though.

[4] To this day, The Muppet Movie is in my top-five all-time favorite movies.

[5] Calico Critters.  Any given shoe box in our house is likely to be peopled with Calico Critters.

[6] Think Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.