Posted by: normanlgreen | August 22, 2011

Dream August 22, 2011 aluminum and deportation

Dream, home 5:15 am

This morning, I work at an aluminum smelting plant, deep in an underground steam room. In fact, I see no aluminum being manufactured, only steam and puddles. The management is on a house-cleaning mission, and many of the employees are hiding – I am one of those. I squat beneath a rusty shelf beside a rust pool of water, aware that one of my fellow workers is across the aisle in a much better spot. I pull myself into the space using the l-shaped legs of  the shelf, but still my fanny and the soles of my feet stick out into the passageway. I am spotted and called up before a tribunal of women in their sixties – all white hair from the style shop and perfectly pressed pant suits. They show me documents in my own hand writing, evidence that I am a dissident. I am asked to wait in another office while they confer. Two of them call on me in my waiting room, the HR officer and the lady-high-executioner. The HR woman looks worried and bird-like as they outline my history of trouble in the organization, much of which we had just covered. I ask them to get to the point. The whitest haired of them, the executioner, calmly shifts same pages and read me the sentence. I am to be deported as a seditionist. I am shocked a the severity of the punishment, but there is no appeal, not to the employer nor to the government.

I exit through the front of the office building and mill amongst the workers leaving their shift. I wait under a breezeway and see the three women come from the building via a set of glass doors. I walk up to them. They draw up defensively. “I am sorry for you” I say “But I don’t mean that in a threatening way – I want you to know that what you had to do was an ugly job, and you were stuck with it. I am sorry for you.”  They do not reply to me before they walk toward the parking lot.

Then I am at home.  My wife can tell that something is wrong with me.  With self-loathing, I confess to her that I am to be deported and that there is no nice way to tell her.  She agrees that it is best to have it out in the open, “If only so you will stop acting so weirdly.” ”Still,” she says, “We were supposed to have fifty thousand in the bank before this happened.” It is as though she had anticipated my sentence.


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