"Don't Drink and Drive"
10/24/2007
Dream #1
My mom's boyfriend and I were driving home from Daytona, and we were wasted. It was his car and he was driving (though he is not one to drive drunk), so I was laying down in the passenger side, dozing off. We ended up riding through the hood, and I noticed that he wasn't stopping at the stop signs. I could feel that he was just rolling through them and, sometimes, not even slowing down for them while making turns. I started telling him to watch what he was doing, because we were going to get stopped by the police. He just laughed it off and said that he was fine and knew what he was doing. However, he just continued driving recklessly, running signs and not seeming to know where the hell he was going. I was still finding it hard not to doze off, though. We pulled up to a wide cul-de-sac, and he was talking to a large crowd of people. Some random girls kept leaning in the window and trying to talk to me, but I wasn't paying them any attention. Soon, we were back in motion, and his blatant, drunken carelessness was starting to get to me. I told him he needed to watch what the hell he was doing and no sooner did I say that, than he ran directly into the back of a parked car. The car rolled forward, as if in neutral, and slammed into a house across the street.
I told him "That's it, I'm driving. Get out," and we switched places. Now, behind the wheel, I started trying to find my way out of the neighborhood and then noticed that I was having a hard time working the brakes. It seemed like - whenever I tried to hit the brakes with my right foot - my foot would phase right through the pedal, or it would be missing, completely. It took me a few tries - and a few ran stop signs - to figure out that I had to use my left foot for them, as if I was working a clutch. We came back around to wide street, where a bunch of thugs were hanging out. One of them had a really nice car, and there was another that was blocking the opposite side of the road, a few feet behind the first. I had to try to squeeze between these cars but, when I came upon them, I used my right foot again, and it went through the brakes. Unable to stop, I scraped our way up against the entire driver's side of the nicer car, completely ruining it. It was like an old impala or something, that was utterly pimped-out, and I'd just destroyed it. Having no second thoughts about not stopping, I hit the gas and took off.
We weaved through the neighborhood, and I saw a cluster of police lights, up ahead. I turned down another street, and then another, trying to get around the cops. When I came upon the next intersection, though, they were already coming my way, from one side. I tried to stop at the stop sign but, again, I used my right foot, which went right through the brake pedal as if it didn't exist, and we rolled through the stop sign, almost hitting a lady cop on her motorcycle, in the middle of the crossroads. Both vehicles came to a stop, and she got off of her bike. She didn't seem the least bit upset, though, and we just started making some small talk. Somewhere during conversation, our car had inadvertently turned into a motorcycle, with me in the front, and Mom's boyfriend behind me. (But, of course, I didn't notice this other, massive dream-sign. 😒)
She treated us like we were ridiculously cool, though, and ended up giving us the cheesy "finger-guns," gesture, when she walked back to her motorcycle. When she got back on, she looked back at us and said something like "You know...when I do this to someone" (and she did the finger-guns again), "I usually expect to get it back." The way she said it implied that she knew that we were really nervous about something. I quickly recovered and said "...oh...well, you know, in this part of town, doing this (I did the finger-guns back) to anybody could get you killed...especially to the police." She laughed a little at that and said, knowingly, "You two be careful." I could tell, without a doubt, that she knew we were drunk.
She drove off, though, and we went home.
No comments:
Post a Comment