Weird Dream Channel
Feb. 21st, 2012 11:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
howeirdI am on vacation. As usual I am by myself, which lets me go places on impulse whenever I want. In theory I am visiting Bangkok, but the place looks more like what I would imagine Milan or Barcelona would look like. I have made a conscious decision to search out the lower income districts, taking mass transit.
My first trip is on the monorail, and a couple of stops in, we go up a section which is like the start of a roller coaster ride - slow and almost straight up. Then we go down a slide-like section "wheeee!" and coast to the next stop. I get off at the last stop, and am surrounded by tall brick buildings.
I wander around, there is not much to see here.
I take two or three more transit rides, and finally it is time to find a hotel or something. The "or something" is a slum apartment where I rent a room. I am there long enough to turn the patio into a kitchen, with a camp stove and grill and a folding table and chairs. I have a single bed with Italian-looking white sheets and bed covers.
And now it is time to move out, vacation is over. The landlady, an attractive woman with an alabaster complexion, long black hair and blue eyes, has hired two men to help strike the patio since I have no way to cart away this stuff. They are both men I know IRL, though I can't place them. One is in his 20s, the other is closer to my age. They spend a lot of time staring at all the stuff, and the older one starts making a fuss about how much they will be paid. I tell him the landlady hired him, ask her. He tells her that $10 an hour is not enough. She says he isn't getting $10 an hour. She rattles off some numbers to calculate what the job is worth, and asks me to do the math.
I look at the numbers, but my brain freezes up, I can't do the math. I find my old HP calculator, afraid that its battery may be dead. The battery is fine, but the display is too dirty to read. Older helper keeps complaining, and throwing out more numbers and excuses. I open the patio door to the street, and push/guide him out, telling him I am done with his arguing, he's fired.
I am back on the monorail, going back the way I had come, which means the big uphill climb will be a big downhill slide, and I go "wheee!" out loud. The other passengers glower at me.
There is still one night of vacation, I think I'll get a room at the Intercontinental.
My first trip is on the monorail, and a couple of stops in, we go up a section which is like the start of a roller coaster ride - slow and almost straight up. Then we go down a slide-like section "wheeee!" and coast to the next stop. I get off at the last stop, and am surrounded by tall brick buildings.
I wander around, there is not much to see here.
I take two or three more transit rides, and finally it is time to find a hotel or something. The "or something" is a slum apartment where I rent a room. I am there long enough to turn the patio into a kitchen, with a camp stove and grill and a folding table and chairs. I have a single bed with Italian-looking white sheets and bed covers.
And now it is time to move out, vacation is over. The landlady, an attractive woman with an alabaster complexion, long black hair and blue eyes, has hired two men to help strike the patio since I have no way to cart away this stuff. They are both men I know IRL, though I can't place them. One is in his 20s, the other is closer to my age. They spend a lot of time staring at all the stuff, and the older one starts making a fuss about how much they will be paid. I tell him the landlady hired him, ask her. He tells her that $10 an hour is not enough. She says he isn't getting $10 an hour. She rattles off some numbers to calculate what the job is worth, and asks me to do the math.
I look at the numbers, but my brain freezes up, I can't do the math. I find my old HP calculator, afraid that its battery may be dead. The battery is fine, but the display is too dirty to read. Older helper keeps complaining, and throwing out more numbers and excuses. I open the patio door to the street, and push/guide him out, telling him I am done with his arguing, he's fired.
I am back on the monorail, going back the way I had come, which means the big uphill climb will be a big downhill slide, and I go "wheee!" out loud. The other passengers glower at me.
There is still one night of vacation, I think I'll get a room at the Intercontinental.
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