I’m in some kind of special ?class with a few dozen other people from work. It was voluntary and i’m kind of surprised i participated. Also, some information regarding upcoming ‘events’ at work is mentioned in the agenda, which at the time of reading didn’t mean anything to me.
There’s a panel of five experts talking about ?? . As the meeting organizer introduces the panel, i look down the line and see Yoko Ono is one of the panelists. We make eye contact and she smiles warmly at me. I think she recognizes me by my bushy hair from my on-line picture from when i’ve commented on her posts on her myspace space.
After the panel had been introduced the ‘class’ resumed our seats at our school desks. A ‘helper’ to the panel began passing out books to a few people in the class and i was one of those that received one. It was something i’ve read before but i can’t remember now that i’m awake. Some classic novel and inside the front cover is a personalized dedication from Yoko. I’m thrilled to have it and feel very special.
Cut scene. I’m in what seems to be a waiting station of some kind. It’s all wood panel and narrow like a train, but there is only a long wooden bench (pews?) on either side facing each other across the aisle and along with me a few of my co-workers are waiting to be called. Most of them don’t know what it’s about because they didn’t have the advantage of having gone to the special class, but me and a couple of other people that did know that each of us are going to meet individually with our manager and be evaluated on how we’re dressed. The next girl who’s called back is Jennifer and i’m shocked at her short dress. It barely covers her crotch and i tell her she’s going to be in trouble in the meeting. She gets defensive but i remind her that even without the agenda, the normal dress code says that dresses can’t be shorter than a hands-length from the knee and it’s always been that way. She leaves and i’m talking with ?? about what will happen to Jennifer. I’m not worried about my appearance because i’m dressed in nice business attire instead of my usual jeans only because i knew what to expect.
Finally i’m called in. The ‘manager’ is somebody i don’t know well but don’t like and i know she doesn’t care for me either. She looks kinda like Halle Barry. She’s laying on a futon under blankets. Apparently she’s sick but is still going to have the meeting. Her assistant is in the only chair in the room so i stand just inside the door and wait for one of them to start the questioning. I tell her, half-jokingly, that if i get sick because of her she’s going to be in trouble.
Now the manager is behind a desk and is asking me about my ?absences – something related to my medical condition. I know she can’t find fault with my appearance so she’s digging for anything else. She says “all your doctors note says is that the condition is ‘being followed’ “ and i give her the details of PKD (irreversible, no cure, slow but steady failure of function) and she seems to be surprised that it wasn’t just some kind of ploy. I feel like i’ve won the battle.
Now i’m in a room full of ‘managers’ and it’s like an inquisition. There are a couple of DMA people in the meeting that i know from working with in the past. My responses to the questions are completely honest and therefore offensive to most of the ‘managers’ and i acknowledge that fact but go on to tell them that i don’t care if they’re offended because the truth is the truth regardless. The DMA people agree with me because they know i’ve always been that way. Again, nobody can find fault with my appearance. Strawberry Fields Forever.
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