Keisha Has a Dream!

Just as hearing “I have a dream” tends to wake up the idealist I have locked away in a dark corner of my brain, the phrase “I HAD a dream” is enough to bring tears to my eyes. But, instead of the kind of tears brought on by the thought of us living in harmony, these are tears that represent painful boredom.

There are few things as uninteresting to me as hearing someone tell me about a dream they had. If it doesn’t involve me in a sexual tryst of epic proportions, then I’d rather talk about more exciting things like, say, the annual precipitation levels in Kansas City, Kansas.

This being said, you can imagine my horror when I sat down to get my hair cut yesterday and was immediately subjected to “dream talk.”

After introducing herself as my “stylist” and finding out how I want my hair cut, Keisha blurts out, “I have the same dream every couple of months. Is that weird?”

Um, not as weird as you deciding to fucking tell me this while cutting my hair.

Before I can answer, Keisha launches into a description of the dream. I know misery loves company, but I’ll spare you. I’ll just say that it had something to do with a cruise ship that she could never figure out how to board.

“It’s just so weird,” she says.

“Yeah, sounds like it,” I say, hoping this will end soon. But, no, it does not.

“Then, I have another dream where I am in a house by myself and I’m the only one in the whole neighborhood. It’s so scary.”

To me, this sounds like a great dream — no awkward neighbors, no random dogs shitting in your yard, just 24/7 silence. But, I don’t mention this to Keisha. I am trying hard not to engage.

“Maybe it’s me trying to get into heaven,” Keisha says. She is still not noticing the uneasy tone of my voice when I continually say things like “oh, weird,” and “hmmm.”

Keisha continues to talk about her dreams for what feels like the longest 10 minutes of my life. While I am used to having a bad experience at SuperCuts, it’s usually due to my being depressed that my hair is so lame that it doesn’t deserve more than a $13 hair cut. Yesterday, Keisha took it to another level. But, in the end, I still tipped her $5. What the hell is wrong with me? If I was the person I wanted to be I would have said “Keisha, I am engaged. I can’t even stand hearing my fiancée talk about her dreams. Why do you think I’d want to hear about yours?” I’ve really got to work on being more assertive…