M1D32012 – High powered tequila and a wheelchair

The surge of excitement from inside the bar swelled my eyes with curiosity as my friends and I make our way to find a seat. The only open table was center of the lounge area and to the right of the bar with the dance floor in full unblocked view. The only trouble was that there were only four chairs and yet five of us. The table to the left of us had four women one of which was in a wheelchair, as they rambled over martinis and wine one of the ladies with me asked the group if we could have their vacant seat. Unexpectedly the woman in the wheelchair became very rude and refused to give up the chair stating she was using it, and in respect my friend continued her search for a seat. Along the wall was a cute young hipster couple who had an empty seat yet when asked they advised that they were waiting on someone to arrive. Returning to our table she decides to ask the group of ladies once again if she may use their empty seat. Her persistence infuriated the woman in the wheelchair and they begin to argue loudly, attracting the attention of many others bar patrons. After several colorful words and a miss-aimed martini was thrown my friend snatches the empty chair from the now stunned and agitated group of ladies and quietly joins us at our table. Appalled by the reaction of the lady in the wheelchair and a bit ashamed of her own actions my friend orders a round of shots for all of us and a round for the table of catty ladies. A bit on high alert after her request I kept a sharp eye on the adjacent table anticipating a shower of high-powered tequila to come flying our way but surprisingly the group of ladies were quite pleased with our offering of truce.
Rather tipsy yet coherent everyone enjoys a few more drinks before exiting the bar.

Stepping outside to an alive street side with night owls fluttering from one water hole to another crashing into each other as they zigzag along the sidewalk. With each collision there was a snap shot effect as if they had frozen in place for a split second just to increase my delight of their drunken foolishness. With no parting words my friends take separate paths as I continue down the roadside. Now alone, I struggle to focus and regain my composure as a public transit bus backs up and collides with a parked tour bus full of children. Their shrill screams bring my awareness to full attention as I run to their aid. Rushing the children off the bus it is clear that all are safe just shaken up and scared. As the police arrive the bus driver is taken into custody and the parents of the children rally around me, barking and snapping their demands for answers but I remain composed despite their aggressive persistence. I take a breath and hand out what appears to be business cards, surprised by my own actions I try to read one of the cards but like in many dreams the words are blurry no matter how close they are to my face. One of the parents asked what my hours are as they would like to bring their child in for a therapy session that day to assure they got the help they need after such a traumatic event. It is clear to me at that point that I was either a psychologist or therapist of some form. Excited about this discovery I suggest they bring the child in immediately and they could follow me to the office. However as I turned to walk to my so-called office I realize that I don’t know where it was or how to provide professional services to their child. I felt myself grin in waking life as I proceeded to walk down the street despite my worries. At that point the entire group of parents and children were following behind like a benefit parade for sheltered children and their high dollar low self-esteem mothers and disconnected fathers I tried to direct my attention to the endless street ways that surrounded, hoping for something to strike a memory or provide a hint of direction.
Many of the fathers had cellphones in hand completely disconnected to the event in which took place; I could have easily guided them off a cliff like sheep’s to the slaughter they followed blindly to an unknown destiny, disillusioned by the ideals of a societal caged man. The mothers clung to their children, inspecting them from head to toe as they walked stumbling through an endless list of “does this hurt” never giving the children a real chance to answer if anything really did. It was quite a show we put on but the streets and buildings were empty, and the amusement of this haphazard cluster of lives was solely for me to behold but I was the one leading this group of character clichés so what does that mean, how does that reflect on me?….then I woke up.

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