This is a crazy, crazy, CRAZY dream I had last night…

I was locked up in a place called Bedford, a gaol housing all sorts of inmates, including Keanu Reeves. My crime? Being a non-conformist at work and speaking my mind, particularly around communication. I tried to give an example to my superiors about how important it is (try to get someone to do something without using any form of communication) and why it should be front and centre. before my point could be made, I was whisked off to Bedford, which was almost another branch of my work, for “retraining”.

There were two levels to Bedford: the first (where I was located) had more freedoms, but there was still an expectation that work was done. This work vaguely resembled reshelving library books that had been collected in large plastic hobby boxes. And canteen detail: cleaning up plates from tables and making sure leftover food was sorted into the correct container. There was a number of supervisors, some friendly, some not. Bedford reminded me of a cross between a factory and a school.

I was dressed in a green uniform, not dissimilar to scrubs. And while I bucked the system, I ended up doing what was required because it meant I survived. This included asking permission. And not questioning the decision. And not seeking to draw attention to myself because that would mean a trip to the second level. And no one ever came back.

I tried to make friends while I was there, including with Keanu, who, it turned out, had always been my friend, but had forgotten. Unfortunately he was more interested in the other inmates than me, although he did kiss me once to jog his memory. He was happy to have me around, though, because he liked my perkiness.

My retraining was semi-successful. While we exercising in the yard, which was more like an oversized netball court, I had an urge to rollerskate, and while the shoes I was wearing had wheels, I wanted to put my proper skates on. I glided over on my wheeled shoes to seek permission from the Supervisors because I had been at Bedford long enough to know that that’s what you do. Permission was denied due to a risk of crashing and burning on the asphalt. I glided once more around the netball court, and my shoes broke.

It was during canteen detail that my fate was sealed. The Chief Executive, who I though was my friend, red rubber stamped me with “Annoyed” to go to Level 2. He saw that instead of crumbling bread into the bin, I had put it back on a serving tray. Didn’t I know that that’s how epidemics start? I was immediately given a talking to by a hoard of Supervisors, who descended on me. I was dragged kicking and screaming to the Level 2… and woke up.

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