Dream of: 25 February 2010 "Paint Job"

Michelle, a second woman, and I were working in the 17th Street House. After paying Michelle $60 (for which she was supposed to work for six hours), I instructed her to paint the door of the upstairs bathroom and when I supplied her with a bucket of dark blue paint, she began painting. After about a half hour of painting, however, she had made little headway, and I told her I could have finished the door in the same time. To prove what I had said, I picked up a big brush, dipped it in the paint bucket, and ran it across the top of the door. To my surprise, however, whitish water, mixed with the blue paint, streamed out of the brush and down the door. I immediately realized the brush must have been left in water and the water was running out of the brush. I quickly tried to catch the running water/paint with my brush and told Michelle to find me a piece of paper to put on the floor to prevent the water/paint from dripping on the floor. She took off down the stairs to look for something.

As I continued struggling to control the drips, I took a closer look at the blue paint and realized I didn't like it. The blue paint didn't go with the rest of the house at all. A beige color would have been much better. Now that I had started painting the door, I would have to repaint it another color. The more I looked at the door, the more I thought perhaps I should simply replace it with a newer door. Some of the other doors in the upstairs hallway had already been replaced with new doors, and the present bathroom door was even broken along one edge. It would definitely be better to replace it.

 I could hear Michelle downstairs. It sounded as if she had some kind of portable music device because I could hear her music as she moved from room to room. I also thought I heard her talking with someone on the phone. I waited and waited and finally the music seemed to abate and fade out completely. I could hardly believe it. I began to wonder if Michelle had simply left the House. Finally I put down the paintbrush and walked down the stairs, only to find that Michelle was nowhere to be seen.

I was angry. I had already paid her and she had left. This wasn't the first time this had happened and it seemed to be happening more often. I only saw one solution: in the future I would have to wait until she had completed the work before I actually paid her.

I decided I was going to have to go find her and bring her back. When I walked outside to board my car, a thin black fellow (probably in his late 20s) stepped up and jumped into the driver's seat, while I climbed into the front passenger seat. Although the fellow had sometimes acted as my chauffeur in the past, I really didn't need him at the moment, and I would have preferred to have driven myself. Since he was already pulling out, however, I didn't say anything and we headed down the road.

I was immediately unhappy with his driving - he was going too fast. When our white car pulled up behind a slow-moving red car, he swerved around the car on the right and tried to pass. The red car then speeded up just as we were about to pull in front of it. Our front left fender scrapped against the right rear fender of the red car. I immediately began berating my driver for having tried to pass on the right side of the other car. The red car pulled over and we pulled over behind it. When we got out of the cars, however, the other car was white and our car was red. I could see a red mark from our car on the left rear fender of the other car (instead of on the right rear fender). I quickly looked at the right front fender (instead of the left front fender) of my car and saw no damage.

The other fellow stepped out of the other car. He was obviously Hispanic and he seemed nervous. Sensing that he didn't want any problems, I told him I didn't see any damage and suggested we continue on. He was in agreement. We all turned to get back in our cars and get out of there before the police came.

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