GAFB

Dreamed last night that work sent a co-worker (we'll call him Westminster Abbey) and myself to Goodfellow Air Force Base in San Angelo, Texas to perform sysadmin work. I walked into the Charge of Quarters (CQ) to check in, only to be stared at by everyone there. I was in my BDU's, but I was thin - normally in my dream I'm my 250lbs self in fatigues - I was wearing my "official" uniform with name tag & rank, but also my full beard. This dawned on me by the time I got to the desk, where I knew either the uniform had to go, or my beard. I briefly considered shaving, but knew my wife would kill me if I did so, so I decided I would change out of my uniform first chance I got.

That's when I remember I not only didn't bring my duffel bag, I didn't even pack it. I got on the plane without my clothes. Now I had to go to the Sunset Mall to buy new clothes. I wondered if they sold Ralph Lauren, and what all I was going to have to purchase: socks, underwear, shirts and pants. At least I'd get to see Robin. I couldn't wait to phone him. We were given four chits with our room assignments on them, as we were going to be staying on base in the dorms. They were numbered from highest to lowest, with the lower numbers being more ghetto-like, as they were older, and the higher numbered dorms being the ones more recently built. We left to find our rooms, and basically entered Chinatown.

The area of the base which housed the dorms was a densely populated, bustling hive of scum and villainy. We waded through an ocean of people buying and selling wares and themselves. I'd offered to take the lowest numbered dorm because I'd been stationed here before and was more familiar with the area. I was concerned, however, that the beds might not be up to my usual standards. We had four dorm chits as we were getting rooms for ourselves, and two more co-workers who would be catching up with us later.

We went through each of the four dorms looking for our room, and each dorm presented a unique opportunity to get separated, involved in a fight, drink, fornicate, or rescue someone. It was very nearly pure, unadulterated chaos. As we concluded our tour, Westminster Abbey had to return to CQ. We took his aging, white Ford Ranger. I stayed in the car while he went in wondering what time the mall closed, and if I could wear what I had on now again tomorrow without anyone noticing.

Then I saw the most incredible thing - a low, flat, four-engined jet screamed overhead close enough that the force of its engines shifted the truck onto the curb before slicing between two dorms in a crash landing! I was horrified at what I'd seen and held my breath waiting for the crushing blow of the shockwave I would surely feel from this distance and hoping I would survive the blast of heat which would follow. Instead, triumphantly, the flat, four-engined jet rose and hovered, putting on a magnificent aerial display no aircraft today could manage. I knew this was the future I was seeing.

The back-pressure of the four massive engines was too much for the little Ranger I was sitting in and it began to roll out into the street. I couldn't seem to find "Park" on the column-mount gear shift, instead the gear indicator went around and around in a dizzying array of options, none of which made any sense, and I awoke.