Last night I dreamt I was playing golf alone, though the course was crowded. I was on a par 3, and I hit a Pitching Wedge to the back of the green a good shot! As I watched the ball it began to roll back towards the pin, and it was tracking towards the cup. Bang! It went in, then a few seconds later it popped out again. I yelled “Covid Rules! That’s a hole in one!” (There’s a new golf rule that allows you to leave the pin in the cup, and if the ball, while putting only, hits the pin and bounces out it counts as going in, all in an effort from the golf courses not to have golfers handle the pin in times of Covid.)
A woman on another tee box said “I saw it, it went in!” As I made the turn, I stopped in the clubhouse and told the exiting news to the golf pro. He said “Oh yeah?” And in an instant he pulled up the most high tech camera surveillance equipment and zeroed in on my hole in one. People gathered they wanted to see if I was telling the truth, the camera zoomed into me hitting the shot, a terrible display of a golf swing that I appeared to hit it “fat.” In the video, disgusted at my swing, I slammed the club down in a unsportsmanlike showing of golfing frustration. A woman said “You got mad at the swing that gave you a hole in one?”
Then the camera zoomed in on the ball which was rolling on the green towards the cup. It was moving at an outrageous speed and smashed into the pin, went into the hole briefly and bounced out again. The pro said “That’s a hole in one with the Covid rule.” He then handed me an envelope with a sum of cash in it, apparently a policy the course upheld for all hole in ones. Inside there was $700 cash, and a receipt with my shot number.
I continued my game of golf, that included a grown up toddler running around in a plaid suit. He was in the way of one of my Tee shots and I was worried that I may threaten his safety. Such is life. He was in a way, grown up, but a toddler.
I then found myself working in a cafe, and I was wondering if I was suppose to work that day or not. The place was empty, and dutifully I was doing my side-work before the shift began. But none of my co-workers showed up, something was amiss. I saw another worker and asked “Where’s the team?” She said that they had called out sick, and quit the job because their health was at risk. I soon learned that this cafe doubled as a wellness center that had a health clinic attached to it. The servers whom I was working the shift with that day, also advised clients when they shouldn’t go into the work because of health hazards, and on this day five of them self diagnosed the working conditions unfit for their health. A few of the other employees and I marveled at this decision and the chain of command that allowed this to happen. “Well,” she said “They were terribly overweight and standing in a restaurant all day is taxing for their feet, and that’s why they can’t work today, and they’re experts on telling people when it’s unsafe to work.”
At that point, a crazy long haired cook at the cafe came rolling in in an odd hotrod. It had two huge wheels in the back, slick tires, an exposed engine and almost a side car cab where the driver sat. As he backed into his parking space and threw it in reverse, the car began to teeter back and forth on the large wheels seemingly with no front balance, like a unicyclist trying to find his level of balance as he reversed and finally, as the car got into place the front end settled on wheels that looked like shopping cart wheels that spun 360 degrees. He got out, mouth agape, almost rabid like, he seemed full of psychosis and strange energy, and marched towards the cafe with a grenade in his hands! Everybody ran, and I hoped in the crazy guys hotrod.
The key was in it and I pushed it off and slowly, painfully made my escape as the bombing lunatic saw me leave in his home-made automobile. I left it in an easily seen parking spot some miles away and hitched to a cinderblock house with weeds growing around its perimeter where I apparently lived. And settled into the damp quarters with the setting sun blazing the walls with its orange majesty,