The other week, I dreamnt --
I'm at work and working but work is a giant multi-level building with interlinked rooms flowing into one another and sometimes down one step from another, including this quarter-story down area with exposed brick pillars and distant walls and a huge airy open ceiling and white table cloths, almost like a winter garden indoor patio, and me and my coworkers are doing our best to manage all of the tables across all of the rooms, which are too many for us, there's so few of us and it's such a big space, and I bring a Chang beer up to a table and the one (older middle-aged) (South Asian) (nattily-dressed and beblazered) customer who's there in a sprawling group seems confused, and then he turns to me on the table this large blue-gray bottle with a silver label that says in a big arcing brandname MAHARAJA and then has a word KING over to the lower left of it on the label, and I suddenly realize that his accent saying the word "king" when ordering made me mishear everything and so I brought him a Chang, and meanwhile my one older (Thai) coworker who's a whiz at the phones had like right around then gotten his repeat order but brought him the right thing, and now there was a second beer, already opened, that we couldn't do anything with, and it was cutting into the restaurant's overhead...
And then, I woke up.
. . .
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