Posted by: normanlgreen | November 12, 2011

Dream, November 12, 2011 more printer clutter


Dream, home, 7:10 am

There was to be a meeting at a building on the south side of Bellingham, in the parking lot of the Sehome village shopping mall. We were to meet to discuss business at a combination hotel, restaurant and movie theatre – the place could never make it as any one thing, so it branched out into confusion. I watch out the front windows, waiting for the people with whom I was to meet, but they never show up. I give up on them and opt to leave. To exit the building I pass through a glassed-in boxy bulge on the front of the lobby – a wind and weather shield, not needed on this clear day. Customers and staff have filled this antechamber with bicycles. I have to shift my way through the tangle of bikes, lifting them out of the way, but replacing them, as best I can, in the arrangement they had been.

Outside, I turn to the left and cross the parking lot toward the main structure of the shopping mall. My car is in a little bay between smaller shops. Reaching my car, I discover that I left my shoes at the restaurant. “Isn’t that just like me? Some people go all day without removing their shoes in public.”

Returning to the theatre/hotel/restaurant, my cell phone rings. A young couple visiting from Alaska would like some help with a file, but do not know how to find me. Rather than direct them to the shop, I instruct them how to come to where I currently stand – we will move the shop here to make things easier. They are very close (visiting friends in a community called Buffalo Springfield, situated up the Mt. Baker Highway) and arrive in an instant. They look like snowboarders, with tangled hair and he with a beard. They wear woolen caps and beatific smiles.

Again, my phone rings. Mary at the shop is concerned about a new client who is wanting to print a book with copyright issues. The Alaskan couple and I are transported to the shop, where my staff is being bullied by three men who pretend to be big shots. These men have pushed Bev and Mary around to the point where they went ahead and printed a couple dozen chap books – a lengthy essay by one of the three bullies. I see that they have quoted extensively from published sources.  We should not go forward.

The three men bear down on me. I tell them that since the books have been printed, that they can take them, but we will leave the books unbound.  If there are to be further runs, these seedy would-be publishers will have to present letters of release from all the quoted sources.

They decide not to push it further, but the biggest of the bullies – mid fifties, with graying red hair, 200 pounds, and a superior attitude – decides to poke though the old run masters for books we have produced. He spots a manual on surviving the coming economic crash. He barks out: “You have to bribe the manager of a refinery!” I calmly respond that would only be true if you plan to continue living your life as you have been doing so. I would rather simplify, that if all the fuel and the electricity become scarce, that I would rather learn to live without them. He scoffs. I tell him that I am comfortable as a Luddite. “Besides,” I inform him, “bribery does not make for long-term friendships.”

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