VITAL STATISTICS
Dreamer: Helen
Date: Oct. 6, 1997
Title: The Supermarket, Africa
I was a diplomat to 'Africa' living in a dinky little town in Vermont. I put 'Africa' in quotes because what I actually did was go to this immense supermarket which is where all the African heads of state would meet, and they and I would dress up like stockboys and clerks and cashiers, run the supermarket and conduct state business. So, for example, me and the head of Nigeria would be conducting high-level negotiations while we stocked the shelves with canned vegetables. All my bosses were contemptible jerks who thought the Africans were really simple-minded, and they kept offering me these really asinine suggestions of how I could 'pull one over on them'. When I would meet with the African heads of state I'd tell them what my bosses said and we'd roll our eyes and agree I worked for jerks.
On my way to the supermarket 'Africa' I had to pass the house of this pompous, retired English professor. He treated me like an errand-boy because I had to pass a cemetery on the way to 'Africa'. His family crypt happened to be located in that cemetary, where his wife, who had just died, was interred, along with 15 of their deceased children. It was this tacky, rococo thing. The village's tourist brochure actually called the crypt a testament to 'the couple's insatiable sexual drive, and the wife's endurance and libido,' (on account of the 15 dead kids - there might have been more who were alive). I thought this was a really tacky thing to write, but nobody except the African heads of state gave a damn about what I thought. Anyway, as I was walking past the professor's house he told me to bring a case of all these different colored wines (including one that was bright yellow, more intensely yellow than Mountain Dew) up to crypt, one for each of the deceased.
Grumbling, I dragged the case of wine up to the crypt only to discover it had been very colorfully and creatively defaced. I was amused, although no one else would be. Then I spotted Moon running around the cemetery vandalizing and defacing the graves in various, interesting ways. I completed my trip up to 'Africa' where, surprise, surprise, I ran into Stephanie L. buying canned vegetables and bottled juice. I told her that I'd spotted her boyfriend running amuck in the cemetery, vandalizing the tombstones. She merely grimaced like she already knew and said, “Yes, it's come to that.” Then I woke up.
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