Strange Dreams (Are Made of This)

If your dreams are anything like mine, these days, they quickly turn nightmarish when either someone gets too close to you or people aren't wearing masks.

Just the other night, I dreamt that some of my coworkers gathered in my backyard for happy-hour drinks, much like we do, virtually, through Google Hangouts. But in this dream, I started to get stressed when my colleagues started filling my backyard and I noted that some of my colleagues, who live in Québec, shouldn't have crossed the border to be with me in the first place.

The most distressing part of that dream was when I discovered that my beer fridge was nearly empty, and the remaining cans were seriously dented or half-crushed and could not be opened.

Yeah, a real nightmare.

All of my dreams of late seem to be COVID-related, where my personal space is invaded or that once-familiar environments are seriously altered such that I can't find my way around.

The other week, in real life, I searched the LCBO Web site for non-alcoholic beer, as I'm planning a Brown Knowser video review for Dry January, of which I'm not taking part but feel I should see what alternatives are available for those who are.

On the LCBO site, there was a variety of various alcohol-free brews from which to choose and my eyes fell upon two: one from Ontario and one from the UK. According to the LCBO, there were plenty of the Ontario brew in stocks but only one bottle of the British one.

I figured that by the time I reached my local liquor store that UK bottle would be gone, so I decided to wait until the next day to grab the Ontario brewery cans.

That night, I dreamt that I went shopping in my LCBO and it turned into a nightmare.

First of all, the store had been completely redesigned and was more like an IKEA labyrinth than a typical LCBO. To add to the confusion, arrows on the floor would suddenly change direction and I was constantly finding myself walking in the wrong direction.

The store was crowded, with people squeezing between one another and making direct contact. And, to top it off, no one was wearing a mask and I could feel their moist breath in the air.

At one point, I screamed, "Put on a f*cking mask!" which silenced everyone.

One maskless person looked at me and said, "Sure, as soon as you do the same."

I put my hand to my face and realized that I wasn't wearing a mask, either. It was in the breast pocket of my coat, where I always keep one. I grabbed it and quickly put it on.

The other patrons reluctantly put their masks on but some were defiant, claiming that the damage was already done. If we were going to become infected, putting on a mask at this point wouldn't help.

I kept my mask on and searched for my beer, trying to keep my distance.

I searched the store, trying to find a non-alcoholic beer section, but had no luck. I approached one of the staff, who told me that there was no such section, that beer, regardless of its alcohol content (or lack thereof), was placed together on the shelves. I would just have to search for the label.

Now, anybody who knows me knows that I hate being in stores during this pandemic, especially in crowded stores. I try to get in and get out as quickly as possible. 

With the design of this nightmarish store, there were aisles upon aisles of beer, but I couldn't find the one I was looking for.

In real life, I would have seen the crowd when I first entered the store and said, "F*ck this sh*t," and walked out. But I continued to go through every shelf, even though my anxiety was through the roof.

I eventually awoke, never having found the beer.

The next morning, for real, I went to my local LCBO a half hour after it opened, and was relieved to find only two cars in the parking lot. Inside, I saw only a couple of shoppers. The employees outnumbered the patrons and everyone kept their distance.

I was able to quickly find the non-alcoholic beer section but the Ontario brew was completely sold out. Happily, though, there was plenty of that beer from the UK, so I grabbed a few bottles, plus a couple of cans of juicy, high-alcohol IPAs.

I left the store within five minutes, stress-free.

I'm not one who has vivid dreams with any kind of frequency—at least, not that I remember—but for more than six months, it seems like I have these pandemic-themed dreams every night. How about you? Are you having strange dreams?

Share them.