Night of March 23, 2013. Saturday.

I am sitting in a car (as the driver) at an A&W Root Beer stand at night (almost closing time, I would say). A waitress skates out my way to the car but loses her balance slightly and her head/face crashes into the car window, the glass falling onto the seat. The crash is not quite right, but is very loud and short, like a small firearm rather than a glass-related sound. The girl seems to have vanished.

I then notice that the glass on the seat is now more like a cardboard jigsaw puzzle than broken glass and in about sixteen or more pieces, so I kind of quickly put it together and it is a picture of the girl looking through the window. I look up and the scene has become “real” and she waves. “Sorry, we’re closing,” she says. I look down at the jigsaw puzzle and it is apart again, but with no sign of skin tones on any piece.

Later, I am out of my car near the root beer stand, but in the parking lot of a closed convenience store. After a few minutes, a few other people gather. First, two men throw a couple empty root beer cans into the recycling bin. Eventually, they open new cans but they spray a bit (as from being dropped or being too icy). They aim the cans at the recycling bin, and a couple streams of root beer go into the open bin, some going on the ground.

More people arrive. Soon, there are streams of root beer going into the recycling bin but mostly missing and going all over the shopfront in wide arcs and all over the ground. They keep going and going and eventually laughing. The mess is getting worse and worse. Root beer is running along the gutter as if it had been raining syrup for a long time. I become annoyed and want to leave the area in case the police drive by.

Eventually, the police do drive in and stop. A few people are interviewed. I am in the sidelines near a larger officer (about a foot taller than me) who is looking at some sort of itinerary on the front hood of his vehicle. I touch him on the back near the left shoulder in a friendly way, telling him about the people I saw doing the sprays and then remember that touching an officer (especially when they are focusing on something else) would be considered very foolish and dangerous (and life-risking).

I say, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I forgot you didn’t like to be touched”. Oddly, he does not even notice. He nods very slightly and mumbles (more at his own thinking) and I walk off to my car and there is a slight concern that the attention will fall on me, but it does not. In dreams, I purposely never have a license for anything (may relate to years ago in real life where a court case and doubled arrest - taken to two different stations and fingerprinted at both - one unrelated to the other county - was all fabricated based on a fictional charge of me fishing without a license and I had a valid one on me at the time when checked - it was based more on my looks and some sort of jail quota even though I acted friendly - also, the judge deliberately signed random bench warrants on a regular basis and went off on a Friday night to keep innocent people in jail over the weekend, everyone knew about it, but no one said much - so it was common for people to plead “no contest” or “guilty” on “time already served” for various fictional crimes in Vernon County Wisconsin at that time - so it dawned on me since it did not matter if you had a license or not, why pay and make an effort to have one, at least in dreams.)

The other people are just standing around trying to explain the root beer fiasco to the police. My dream car is very spacious, somewhat like a modern station wagon. The people continue to stand around, two officers writing notes (one female) and the older, large one still looking at his itinerary for when he goes on his next vacation. Apparently that is all he does when on call. A man points up to the sky, making some sort of explanation that the birds had squirted down most of the root beer or some such (or that it was not even root beer but bird doo), and the police all look up. A man points at the gutter, the police look there. Wherever one person points, everyone else looks; the bins, the shop windows, the awnings, the shop door, their cars, etc. It will be a long night, probably. The shopfront is covered in a thick, dark syrup in various arcs, lines, and blobs. “We didn’t know the bin was already full,” says one.

I get in my (fictional) car and very carefully and slowly drive off. I reach the next intersection and hear loud trucks approaching. I do a sort of weird U-turn in the middle of the street near a taller building - then I remember that I can turn my car invisible while it is disguised as a visible bicycle. I see no other vehicles anywhere, but hear them loudly approaching. Not sure what to do; I risk driving fairly fast through the intersection thinking that maybe the traffic is just echoing from somewhere else.