I seem to dream of everything that has ever happened in my life. In these dreams, I am whole, I have ALS but I have yet to display the symptoms. I am walking, talking, using my hands and fingers normally. I am not extraordinary, just as I was in my real life, performing routine activities on an above average level. A sought after employee that held herself in low esteem--always striving for perfection.
Last night I went back to work at Wendy's Old-fashioned Hamburgers in Kent, Washington, the site of my first job. Lord only knows why. I was positioned in the front end as order coordinator but given no instruction; it was assumed I knew what I was doing as a former employee, regardless of the elapsed thirty-five years between then and now.
The first order came in as I stood between the cashier and grill operator; I strained to recall the activities of my role. Do I lay down the bun and layer on the condiments for the grillman? Wrapper or no? Dip the chili? Ready the drinks?
I moved to the register; this is the future and we're a cashless society thus no cashbox, no bulk--streamlined and small. The customer line changed their minds and departed. Was it me? Something I said or didn't say? Something I did? I'm coached telepathically, "No worries, they likely decided against our menu offerings for that meal." Matter of fact statement, no follow up dialog on what I could do better, no acting upon my guilt nor bolstering of my fear of failure. Salesmanship rendered completely unnecessary, only the attention to the details of quality product, speed and accuracy of preparation, cleanliness of environment--both sides of the counter.
I decide to attend to the dining room, the same exact dining room as it was in 1979. I hunt down a clean cloth to mop up the countertops, tables, and window sills. I receive calming waves of encouragement as I, pleasantly, bus tables. I check the refuse closet and decide to remove the garbage, proactively, before it gets too full. Surprise registers with my telepathic supervisor; apparently, this kind of behavior is an anomally in the future. I bag it and carry it out to the dumpster of future--same as today except no smell, no mess, complete containment.
See? Nothing earth shattering. Simple. Mundane. But miraculous. I would love to have even that much life available to me now. It was a good dream and it felt good to move normally and be appreciated.
Last night I went back to work at Wendy's Old-fashioned Hamburgers in Kent, Washington, the site of my first job. Lord only knows why. I was positioned in the front end as order coordinator but given no instruction; it was assumed I knew what I was doing as a former employee, regardless of the elapsed thirty-five years between then and now.
The first order came in as I stood between the cashier and grill operator; I strained to recall the activities of my role. Do I lay down the bun and layer on the condiments for the grillman? Wrapper or no? Dip the chili? Ready the drinks?
I moved to the register; this is the future and we're a cashless society thus no cashbox, no bulk--streamlined and small. The customer line changed their minds and departed. Was it me? Something I said or didn't say? Something I did? I'm coached telepathically, "No worries, they likely decided against our menu offerings for that meal." Matter of fact statement, no follow up dialog on what I could do better, no acting upon my guilt nor bolstering of my fear of failure. Salesmanship rendered completely unnecessary, only the attention to the details of quality product, speed and accuracy of preparation, cleanliness of environment--both sides of the counter.
I decide to attend to the dining room, the same exact dining room as it was in 1979. I hunt down a clean cloth to mop up the countertops, tables, and window sills. I receive calming waves of encouragement as I, pleasantly, bus tables. I check the refuse closet and decide to remove the garbage, proactively, before it gets too full. Surprise registers with my telepathic supervisor; apparently, this kind of behavior is an anomally in the future. I bag it and carry it out to the dumpster of future--same as today except no smell, no mess, complete containment.
See? Nothing earth shattering. Simple. Mundane. But miraculous. I would love to have even that much life available to me now. It was a good dream and it felt good to move normally and be appreciated.
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