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The Weird Dream Chanel
The whole village is out on the town green, dressed in our everyday clothes. At the center of the green, which is a slight hill, is a 50-ish man in army brown, but it's not a uniform. We are all around him, looking his way, listening. He barks out something garbled, which we all know is "left face" and we all do a left face. Next garble is "right face". It has the feeling of one of those mostly-for-fun, company retreat morale-building games. After going through the standard parade ground calls, he garbles something which everyone hears correctly, but everyone except me executes incorrectly. I know it from marching band, it's a double-reverse - you take one step forward, swivel on both feet so you're now facing the opposite direction, then repeat so you're facing the same direction you started. I do it right, but everyone else just does a clumsy about-face. I am the ony one facing the man in the middle, everyone else has their back to him. A few scattered voices, mostly housewives, chide me for not doing it right. I know it's them who didn't do it right, but I don't say anything. The man giving the commands also doesn't say anything, but he gives the same command again, I just stand there, everyone else does the (incorrect) bumbling about-face again, which gets everyone facing the same direction as I am. The man in the middle grunts his approval. The rest of the crowd thinks he is complimenting them, but he and I know he is complimenting himself for getting everyone back in the same direction without having to embarrass them. The "drill" is over, and I wake up.
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Though something I have been struggling with of late is the question of whether it is better to be right than it is to fit in.