Dream of: 01 April 1990 "I Hate Ties"

I had gone to a conference in a strange city in Texas. When I arrived at the building where the conference was going to be held, I had many misgivings because I was rather unsure what my role in the conference was supposed to be. I knew that I was in the role of an attorney, and that I was representing a bank which had once been the principal client of a small law firm for which I had once worked in south Texas. But I hadn't in any way prepared for the conference and I was uncertain what was involved. Plus, I was somewhat concerned because I wasn't wearing a suit.

As I walked through the halls, looking for the room where the conference was held, I saw many lawyerly-type people dressed in suits. I particularly noticed several gray pin-stripped suits, even one with a skirt at the bottom being worn by a woman. Everyone looked professional and I felt quite self-conscious not wearing a suit.

I reached and walked into the room (which looked somewhat like a classroom) where the conference was going to be held. Perhaps 100 folding chairs were set up in the room and were pointed toward the front, where a woman (perhaps 50 years old) was seated behind a desk. She was rather corpulent and had light-colored hair. I thought she must be a judge. Perhaps a third of the chairs were already taken. I looked over the room trying to decide where I was going to sit. I had entered through a door in the middle of the room. I turned to my left and walked to the back of the room, deciding to look for a seat back there.

As I found a seat in probably the second row from the back, I was quite relieved to see most people in the room dressed in ordinary clothes and not suits; only a few were wearing suits. I settled into my seat, felt more comfortable and thought about my situation. I concluded the people in the room had been depositors in a large bank which had gone out of business. Apparently the bank for which I had worked had also been a depositor in the defunct bank, only in a larger scale than most of the other people in the room. Apparently this meeting had been called to determine the nature of why the bank had gone under, and to see if any of these people would receive any money back for their deposits.

The other seats quickly began filling up as additional people entered. After sitting down, I had put a sleeping bag under me, and another one over me, and stretched my feet out in front of me. I saw only two other people with sleeping bags over them, and neither had his legs stretched out. I pulled back my legs, and I even thought of getting rid of the sleeping bags.

The lady in front of the room called out something; a couple people answered. I thought I heard her say something about attorneys; had she asked if any attorneys were here representing anyone? Since I was uncertain what she had said, I didn't answer. Besides, I preferred to remain anonymous; if I could avoid it, I didn't want to be singled out for anything.

I was becoming a bit uncomfortable because people had sat down on both sides of me and seemed to be crowding me. I moved my seat back a little to give me a bit more room. I thought of moving, but suddenly almost everyone in the room got up and started making a line on each side of the room, with the line moving toward the front. I quickly realized everyone was going to get name tags to put on and the name tags were in the front of the room. I likewise rose and got in line.


While standing in line, I spoke to an attractive blonde-haired woman in front of me. I began remembering more about working for the bank now. Plus I knew the defunct bank had gone out of business due largely to one black-haired man who apparently had misappropriated funds. As I continued talking to the woman, we passed Louise, wearing a white outfit and talking with someone on the side of the room. I was unsure whether she saw me, but I hoped she would see me conversing with the attractive woman. If Louise had seen see me, she didn't act like it; we walked on.


After seating myself again, a man who was now in charge of the room began speaking. He said something about sports, which he obviously thought were great, and then suddenly turned to me; picking me out of everyone in room, he asked me what I thought about sports. It took me a few minutes to gather my composure; but finally I bluntly told him I didn't like any type of sports. He starred at me blankly as if he didn't believe his ears. I gathered that most of the people in the room did like sports and that the conference also had something to do with sports. But I thought I had responded properly and I shouldn't be castigated. However the fellow wouldn't leave me alone; he next questioned me about what I thought about punctuation.

I sensed he thought if I didn't like sports, then I must not like anything. And now he was questioning me about punctuation because when I had answered, I hadn't spoken perfectly. However, I had misspoke because my lips were chapped; I was having extreme trouble talking. Nevertheless, I laboriously spoke again, "I like punctuation. I like English. I like languages in general. I like psychology, sociology, history. I also like swimming. "

With that, he left me alone. I thought I had sufficiently defended myself, and had showed I was more inclined to intellectual pursuits than to sports. However I wondered about having added swimming to my list.

The man wanted to know more about where I had come from and whom I was representing. It seemed that we were in a city in the far north of Texas and that Dallas and Waco were in the south, perhaps a hundred miles from where we were. I told him that I had come from both Dallas and Waco, and that I was working for Prudential State Bank, although it took me a while to remember the name of the bank. He asked me if I had ever been to Fredericksburg, Texas. The name seemed familiar to me; I thought I remembered having passed through the town on a recent trip in which I had circled around through some Texas towns. But I was unsure and I told him as much. He finally seemed satisfied and he didn't ask me any more questions.

After being left alone, I noticed a window in front of me in which I could see my reflection. I was wearing what appeared to be a very old shirt from perhaps the 1930s which I apparently had found in a second-hand shop. The shirt was white except for a yellow collar, which looked as if it were made of some pliable plastic material. It was quite odd-looking but I liked it. Two buttons were undone at the top, and my white tee shirt which I was wearing underneath was quite visible. Perhaps I should button one of the buttons.

I spoke to a fellow (perhaps in his mid 20s) sitting next to me. He seemed quite the athletic type. He had come to the conference for the sports part. Looking at me, he asked me why I wasn't wearing a tie. I responded, "I hate ties."


Still sitting next to the same fellow, we were now in what appeared to be a large arena. I stood and gave a brief speech about why we were here. I remembered more clearly my involvement with the bank. I recalled different times when I had seen large bags of money transferred clandestinely from the bank to a car which had been driven by the black-haired man. I hadn't myself been a party to any crime, but I had witnessed actions which I felt were felonious.

As I stood to talk to the throng of people, my mind was on the subject of sports. I made my feelings known about sports being negative activities. A roar of approval went up from the crowd. Some boos of disapproval mixed in; clearly the crowd was split. I remembered I thought there was a strong connection between sports and the military. And I remembered who the black-haired man had been: Charlie Manson. I thought Manson had once been a marine, and shouting to the people who disapproved of me I said, "Be like Charlie Manson. Become a marine."

The man in charge began speaking, arguing in favor of sports. Suddenly some people began rushing to one spot; apparently a fight had broken out. The fight seemed to be between military people supporting what the man in charge was saying, and with other people who seemed to agree with what I had said. At least three different groups were fighting. The fellow next to me was sitting so close that our heads were actually touching in one point. He and I were very different, yet I somehow still felt close to him. I clearly heard him say, "I like the darker side. These are seasonal Italians."

I understood what he meant. Apparently we were close to Italy, and many of the men fighting in my favor were Italians who just came to this area for seasonal work. He thought many would be injured in the fight, and since he was prejudiced against them, he hoped many would get hurt.

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