I’m in the lineup to get into an outdoor restaurant. The couple at the nearest table warns me they might be awhile, which isn’t too impactful considering how many other tables there are. All the same, they do look like they’re finishing up. They’re discussing the merits of different doctors at Vancouver General Hospital, and I happen to know them all so I interrupt periodically to throw in my few cents.
Joss Whedon has planted a tape recorder onto a nearby pole. As two girls walk by, I approach and start saying nonsense, mainly for his future amusement, to see what kind of reaction I can get from them. They catch on to what I’m up to. I try to cover the recorder but they rip it down. I run away but don’t know where to go. They enlist help from nearby samaritans. I don’t remember if I have a car here so I stop at a payphone and call home, quite scared at this point.
My family all sings me happy birthday because apparently it’s my birthday and they were all waiting for me to call. After an expedited thank you in which I try very hard to appear calm, they ask where I want to be picked up. I tell them Tim Hortons even though I don’t know where it is.
While waiting for my ride, I pass a group of men and bump into them, thinking they’re going to attack me over the recording device, which is highly illegal in this society. They laugh mockingly, like they’re the only ones who know this is a dream.