Cat and I are in the market for some new stereo equipment.
We see a piece we like advertised in the paper, sold at the local Fred Meyer department store. We decide to go in and have a look.
Looking at the machine up close, it is much less impressive. The stereo feature a cross fade control (to allow for mixing your own DJ gigs) and a knob for manual control of disco ball lighting, however, it is only carried in beige plastic and features an odd pair of dual bass speakers that resemble plastic bongo drums. I lift up the console top and all manner of loose wires and components that do not appear to be attached to anything spill out of the machine like so much spaghetti.
The electronics department salesperson comes up to us to see if he can offer any assistance. He is half carried over to us by a large, silent Samoan. The salesperson’s face is severely cut and bloody, as if he has been in a bad accident; a very large deep gash in his left cheek and another along his forehead. His face is covered in blood that is at various stages of clotting, as well as oozing from his nose and mouth. The bloodied salesperson appears weak but otherwise indifferent to the state of his face. It is only after Cat and I have to called his damaged physical state to his attention that the salesperson grows concerned.
The electronic department salesperson excuses himself to go clean up, and he is again half carried away by the grim faced Samoan.
Cat follows the pair to the restroom to offer assistance (in the dream, as in real life, she has medical training). I turn back to the stereo equipment, and slide it away from the puddle of blood that has formed on the floor from the salesperson’s extensive wounds.
Fiddling with the controls I find the disco ball knob and soon the store is bathed in purple and pink disco lighting. The cross fade works great and I wonder to myself if this equipment will work with the audio equipment I already have at home.
Cat returns from helping the salesperson. She is quite visibly pale, but otherwise okay. She and I chat about the stereo for a bit while waiting for assistance from another salesperson.
Across the aisle from the stereo department a very small white and fluffy sheep (the size of a Chihuahua) walks up to a white air hose set in the floor. It grasps the white hose with its mouth and begins to fill up with air, growing larger and larger, rounder and rounder before our eyes.
“Look honey,” I say “It is a real, living balloon animal.”
Cat gushes over how cute it is as it gets larger and larger. Soon it is dwarfing the customers who have gathered to watch it grow. Just $39.95 (air tank not included).
I am jarred awake by my dog, who has jumped onto the bed.