1) I am at a tattoo parlor on some sort of group excursion. Awaiting the arrival of the unnamed artist, I flip through a few portfolios. There are two artists at this shop, and I am leaning towards one in particular to execute my newest tattoo. Unfortunately, the other shows up alone, and as I hadn't had a chance to check out much of her work yet, I decide that maybe I can still get something really cool done. She shows me a scene she's drawn, a moonlit path with towering pine trees, a gold moon, bats in the sky; it's rather neat really. According to her, the last time we talked I had asked her to draw this up to me. I point out that we have never met before, and she argues a bit, but finally concedes that yes, she must be confusing me with someone else. I am a bit wary, but ask her to show me a sample of her script font, as I am considering getting a particular phrase tattooed. Well, she admits, she is pretty awful at script, and wouldn't want to risk it. I then attempt to describe a particular style and design of a floral tattoo I'm interested in, and she really doesn't seem to grasp that either. I consider asking her to draw up an elephant for me, but as I already have an elephant tattoo and she seems rather inept regardless, I decide it's in my best interest not to. (Fun Fact: Prior dream-tattoos of mine have included a Santa Claus-themed full arm sleeve, a giant portrait of Jim Morrison on my back, and an entire AOL Instant Messenger conversation with my friend Julian on my calf.)
2) I return to my house, get out of the car, and begin walking up the driveway when I hear an ominous creaking sound. Before I have time to really do much, my car begins rolling rapidly backwards across the street and into my neighbor's yard. Imagining the damage that is about to occur, I'm fairly worried, and stand waiting to hear a crash. Instead, I hear the "SPLASH!" of the car launching into the lake I live on. I'm mildly concerned, but only because I suspect my grandmother will not be pleased with this situation. I head inside and explain it to her as best I can. She is hardly bothered; she reminds me that I have another perfectly functional car in the driveway and all is well.
3) I am arriving at the local grocery store's deli for my first day on the job. My first customer orders two "New Orleans Cokes". I ask her to please explain what this is, and she does; in fact, she writes a brief recipe including a diagram. Basically, all you need to do is, take a tall plastic cup and layer ice, tuna fish, rice, ketchup, and corn, and then pour Coca-Cola over the whole thing until the cup is full. Delicious! I head into the kitchen and toil over this, scrounging for ingredients and measuring and double-checking the proportions, until I'm satisfied with my work. The woman seems pleased, and I am pleased. I return to the front end of the deli to find the lights off and not a single of my new co-workers in sight. I head into the back room again to find everyone sitting around a big table, talking, laughing, eating lunch, and enjoying themselves. I ask whether everyone is on break - yes, this is the deli's break time and no, no one bothered to inform me. I rush to fix a sandwich, not knowing how long the break lasts, or how long it has been going on before I noticed. Returning to the front end, I find that the meat on display in the case is actually false, and the actual cold cuts are dispensed from sort of vending machines that slice it and spit it out for you after you choose a meat and the weight you'd like. I opt for salami, but the machines are confusing - not labeled entirely in English, meats I've never heard of, things that look like salami but might not be - and I can't get a meal together in time. Break ends. I don't complain, just wander around looking for the hand-washing sink. I finally locate it, and there are various hygiene supplies stacked on a shelf next to it. Among them is an antique-looking box of tongue scrapers.
-End Scene-
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