In Case of Confusion

I had a dream this morning, after we finally got Little Miss Hatboy to bed and collapsed after the New Year’s Eve festivities.

I dreamed that the time had come to crack open the cigars in honour of my newborn nephew or niece (actually, technically [as I’ve mentioned several times], the time has come and passed and now we’re in overtime … but as of today, 1.1.2014, the time is really here and things are going to be kicked off and are probably kicking as we speak). Then I discovered that prior to smoking these fine Cuban products, they needed to be cut using a special laser-cutting system (available for use at the tobacconist) for ultimate purity.

I had a cigar-cutter that I had purchased in Tijuana in 2000 (this is true, not part of the dream but I mentioned to the tobacconist [in the dream] that I had this device), but according to the experts it was too small and blunt to deal with the Cubans. Which, if my real-life experiences with the cutter and cigars is anything to go by, is actually true.

Anyway, the tobacconist didn’t tell us about this fancy laser thing when we bought the cigars, along with the other stuff he didn’t tell us about (like the two-part humidification compound [in real-life, not the dream], don’t even get me started on the weird alchemical processes required to keep a damn cigar fresh), or when exactly we were supposed to do the cutting and how exactly we were meant to do it just before smoking unless we actually purchased a highly-expensive piece of laser-cutting technology. Which, don’t get me wrong, would be cool … but anyway.

I was left with the option of going to get my old cigars, which was a long and inconvenient drive (we were at the tobacconist’s at this point, for some reason, and I didn’t have the cigars with me), but then it turned out that for some reason of their age and some other esoteric contractual agreement, he couldn’t cut the old ones anyway, or he could but it would be ridiculously expensive. I was happy to buy three more cigars and cut them right then and there, even though they were expensive and Mrs. Hatboy would probably smack me. The tobacconist seemed sympathetic, but unwavering in his duty to the Laws of Tobacco.

And that was when we saw the ad.

It was taped up on the wall above the tobacconist’s counter: Confusing purchase agreement? It said. Weird or incomplete instructions from shopkeepers? Some obscure new hidden cost or some other thing you didn’t know about, costing you money? Come to our bank branch, where we have consultants available to represent you, free of charge!

Well, that just seemed ideal, and the bank was right upstairs (the tobacconist, I was going to mention earlier but this was the point in the dream at which it turned out to have always been this way, was in a mall). So I went up.

There was a big space, in which a massed multi-player game of table-less ping-pong was going on (I blame Mercury Falls by Robert Kroese). I had to rush through it, batting away a few stray shots with my hands and inadvertently joining the game as a result.

I found the ‘bank branch’, and the consultants sitting around on couches out the front. Goddamn consultants. I asked them, “are you the guys in the ad?” and they were all like “yep, that’s us.”

A few of them volunteered, put their hands up and offered to help with my case. One of them, a dark-haired and stubble-faced guy with his leg in a cast, got up and they agreed that he would be my rep. I guess he looked a bit disreputable but you get what you pay for.

Anyway, I was helping him back down the stairs and telling him about my cigar-cutting issues when I woke up.

That … really didn’t go anywhere, did it?

Happy new year.

About Hatboy

I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends. Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages? I am Hatboy. https://hatboy.blog/2013/12/17/metalude-who-are-creepy-and-hatboy/
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14 Responses to In Case of Confusion

  1. Aaron says:

    LMAO awesome. Your mind…so much win.

    I had a dream last night too. My wife’s hair was long again. And I preferred it short.

    Uhh, that’s it. That was the dream. Pretty weird huh? I mean honestly, who likes short hair on a woman in a dream? Honestly *shakes head*

    • stchucky says:

      The mind is truly a disturbing place.

    • dreameling says:

      Talk about serendipity. I had dream last night that woke me up and that I remembered clearly. I immediately tapped it down on my mobile, because I realized it was a reply waiting to happen in this thread. Here’s what I wrote (I’ve only edited the text a little for clarity, so apologies for the groggy prose):

      Crowded buffet restaurant near Messukeskus[1]. Accidentally piss over my pants in filthy cramped toilet. I and wife turn into Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, respectively. Looks like the opening of Iron Man 4. Restaurant actually in fancy government office building. Young James Earl Jones in squeaky skin-tight red leather. Sits evil-looking in secret control room, leather-clad hand stroking everything it touches. Wants Tony. Tony and Pepper exit the restaurant, now filled with Russians, and Tony does hi-tech spy stuff in building. Pepper captured, which we (wife and I) find an annoying plot twist, so she evades capture instead and escapes with Tony (now in Iron Man suit). Cool cat-and-mouse aerial getaway with Klingon-looking craft ensues. Tony (carrying Pepper) shakes pursuing craft, and he and Pepper dive into snow-filled ditch by a road. Actually entrance to secret underground base. Tony meets up with a group of alien superheroes who all look like Andy Dick in body-hugging spandex. Turn to wife to explain, excited: “This is not Iron Man 4. This a tie-in Marvel one-shot for Guardians of the Galaxy!”

      [1] Helsinki Exhibition and Convention Centre

      There was more stuff before and after, including a booklet with info graphics on how to use “the instructor’s voice” to facilitate peaceful intergalactic communication, but it’s mostly fading now. (By way of context, I should point out that I just watched Iron Man 3, Kick-Ass 2, and Star Trek Into Darkness on Blu-ray.)

      Action dreams are just the coolest (even though I’m rarely able to kill anyone in them, which is sometimes really frustrating).

  2. dreameling says:

    Was the cigar just a cigar?

    (If you replace “cigar” with “penis” and “tobacconist” with “urologist”, this post is frigging hilarious — and also weird and disturbing.)

    • aaronthepatriot says:

      What are you, Bill Clinton? Replace a cigar with a penis, honestly….

    • stchucky says:

      If you replace “cigar” with “penis” and “tobacconist” with “urologist”, this post is frigging hilarious — and also weird and disturbing.

      I’ve noticed that tends to be the case when you replace an important noun in a message with an item of genitalia, and a person in the message with a medical professional who works with said genitalia.

      • dreameling says:

        I’ve noticed that tends to be the case when you replace an important noun in a message with an item of genitalia, and a person in the message with a medical professional who works with said genitalia.

        Now I feel like such a child.

      • stchucky says:

        Now I feel like such a child.

        Then I feel my work here is done … and yet, as the puerile mastermind behind “substitute the one power with the penis in the ‘Wheel of Time‘ series: the game”, I can’t help but feel a teensy bit hypocritical too.

      • All that is required is that we stop the blog from ending today. That’s up to us. At least three of us – me, dreameling, BRKN, Linza, Jonathan, uh, and Cat Protocol … take our places and be ready for the showdown.
        Original text:

        I was totally going to call you out on this hypocwititty but I see there’s no need. As ever, you are full of…integwititty.

    • stchucky says:

      Although I need to also concede, “The urologist seemed sympathetic, but unwavering in his duty to the Laws of Urology” is a superior line.

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