It started out I was in a Wal Mart, which in and of itself classifies this as an immediate nightmare. I understood in the dream that I was in a small, middle of nowhere town–but have no reason why I might have traveled to such a place. The Wal Mart was small and dated–like the non-super stores they built in the late 80s.
I’m gonna have to throw being politically correct out the window at this point–because there simply is no way to be polite from here on.
Running around the Wal Mart was a friggin retarded midget.
Maybe retarded isn’t the right word, but something was very not right about him. He would run around the store, knocking things over, galloping like he was riding one of those stick horses, and cackle the whole time–exposing a mouthful of equal-sized pointy little rat teeth. The employees seemed to know the guy–they smiled kindly and laughed even as he trashed their departments.
The retarded midget ran up to me.
“Hi HI HI” he said, and he sounded like Bevis. (or was it butthead? I can’t remember–at any rate, imagine a midget version of Bevis and Butthead and you come close to this person)
“Hello” I said, and then went back to whatever I was doing. He galloped alongside me on his imaginary stick horse.
“Buy me a candy bar” he said (and you really have to imagine it as Bevis).
“Oh, I don’t think so.” I said, again trying to be as kind as possible. He galloped off.
“You could at least have gotten him a candy bar.” a middle aged clerk said from behind the stack of sweat pants she was folding.
“Well I don’t even know him” I explained.
“Everyone here does” she said with a sigh, as if I were a complete idiot.
I went to the mens room, and for reasons unclear stepped up to a urinal. (I say the reasons are unclear because I HATE a urinal and won’t bother to use them if I can help it at all). Im halfway through taking a leak when the RM (retarded midget) comes in and gallops alongside me.
“HI HI HI” he said again.
“Hi” I said.
He steps right along side me.
“You’re peeing” he said.
“Sure am…” I said, getting very annoyed.
“I can pee too” he said.
“Great” I said.
He steps right up to my leg and cackles “I PEE ON YOU I PEE ON YOU” I look down and YES, the RM is peeing on my leg. The situation soaks in (pardon the pun) and I push him back on his forehead.
Next thing I know, I am in the manager’s office complaining and screaming that something must be done about the RM that is running around. I threaten to call the police and press charges. (Surely peeing on someone is illegal, even if you are a retarded midget). The manager tries to soothe me.
“I’m sure we can do something to rectify this situation without calling the police.” he says.
“Well you can start by getting me some clean pants.” I said. The manager steps out of the room, I assume to get me some pants that aren’t drenched in pee, and comes back a few minutes later with a stack of papers.
He sets them down in front of me.
“That first one is just a formality, we have to have it for the file…” he starts. I look down–it’s a Wal Mart Job Application.
“What is this?” I ask.
“You can start immediately!” he said, “Seven dollars an hour!”
“WHAT?” I asked. “I don’t want a job. I have a job!”
“Alright, 8…but please understand that it’s just to keep this whole mess quiet…” the manager said.
That was his idea of fixing the peeing midget situation–by offering me a job. As he added insult to injury, I woke up in a sweat.