The Gay Detecting Douchebag Bus Driver

I don't know what's wrong with me these days: I can hardly remember any of my dreams. And the ones I do remember, get this, there are no celebrities in them. I can't even get, say, Brendan Fraser to star in my dreams these days. I suppose this may be my brain's way of telling me that my life is way too full at the moment for me to let random celebs take up my energy. But I am seriously not sure that that is a price I'm willing to price for living a full life.

Here's a dream that I somehow managed to remember in details (still no celebs, though, sadly): I was with my friend Laura somewhere in a Danish called Køge, and we decided to climb a near-by mountain. There are virtually no mountains in Denmark, so there isn't any truth to this, geographically. It was late afternoon and sort of dark and rainy, but we were determined to go anyway. It was a bothersome trip. Most of the time we were able to trek, but for some parts, we needed to crawl and climb our way up. When we finally reached the top, we sat down at some kind of café and started talking about various university papers we had written during our studies. For some reason I had my master thesis with me, so I took it out to show her. When I looked at the front page that the title of it was "The Henchman and the Landscape in Nature". This struck me as a horribly clumsy title (indeed it is not the title of my actual thesis), but I seemed to remember that it was a title I'd picked randomly a few minutes before deadline. I was sort of glad, however, to find that I had encarved tiny little words into the letters of the word "landscape": I didn't really remember doing that, but I knew that I must have done it in order to graphically emphasize a point in my thesis about the landscape of a traumatic event carrying a certain signifiance, like a secret code, to a second hand witness trying to gain access to said event (which is indeed an actual point in my thesis. Although I never actually incarved tiny words into any letters).

After a while, we wanted to head home, but it was getting dark outside now, we realised. If we started climbing down the mountain at this hour, chances were that we would get stuck somewhere half down the mountain in the dark. Somehow we were now in Salzburg, where they don't have the light Scandinavian summer nights that we have here.

Luckily, however, we realised that there was a bus going down the mountain that we could get on, and incredibly, the bus was supposed to depart from where we were situated in just one minute. Sure enough, after a few moments we saw the bus approaching - except it wouldn't stop when it saw us. Instead it went on a little, and then the bus driver shouted to us that we had been too late for the bus. We protested and followed him, but then he drove a little further before stopping and shouting at us some more. This repeated itself a few times before we were finally let in.

Half-way down the mountain, however, the bus driver suddenly stopped and left his seat. He walked into the aisle where he intended to perform what he called a "magic show". His trick, he said was this: He was capable of telling if any person he met was or straight, and he would like to demonstrate this on a few of us. Every single one of us found this offensive, and people protested, but the chauffeur insisted. For his show he picked two men, a woman (whom I somehow instinctly knew was a Lesbian) - and me. I told him that I didn't want to be in his show, but the driver said that if I didn't want to participate, I'd have to leave his bus and make my way down the mountain on foot. By then it was pitch dark outside, and there was really no way I'd be able to find my way down by myself, so I had no choice but to stick around and be a part of his stupid gay-dar show. I don't remember how things turned out with the show. I just remember intending to file a complaint to the bus company, demanding that the chauffeur be fired.