Good morning, everybody.
I may have had either a girlfriend or a girl who was interested in me, who lived in a big mansion with her family. It was night, and the girl, another person or some other people, and I all came up to the mansion. The girl wanted me to sleep here. But she knew her father wouldn't approve of me. So her idea was that I should sleep on the porch of the mansion.
I stood out on the porch while everybody else walked into the mansion. The porch of the mansion was huge, made of massive stone. The doors of the mansion were also big, made of black iron and glass.
The girl checked with the cook of the mansion to see if anybody else was home at the moment. I could see the cook from the right side of the porch, apparently through a dark hallway that led into the incandescent-lit kitchen. The cook said nobody was home. But she also may have said that she still didn't think it was a good idea for me to sleep at the mansion.
I went to sleep on the mansion porch. I slept near the back, right corner of the porch. I think I was using some kind of blankets as a mattress, and a sleeping bag as a blanket.
I now woke. The morning light was grey. A group of people (in a number of cars, including a limousine and a van?) pulled up to the mansion. The girl's father walked up the steps, closely followed by a retinue of people, possibly associates and bodyguards. The father was a black man who still looked kind of young. His hair was maybe about 5cm long. He wore a black suit with a white shirt and some kind of striped tie (maybe green and yellow?). He wore dark but mirror-like sunglasses.
I jumped out of my bedding. I was trying to think of some excuse for why I was sleeping here. Thankfully, I was wearing a business suit -- brown slacks and jacket, not sure about the rest. I was still trying to think of what to say as I approached the father.
But the father directly asked me something like, "Aren't you the tour guide?"
Shocked that I had been given an excuse directly, I said, "Yes."
The father said something like, "Well, why didn't you come here with us? Are you even ready to give the tour? You're cutting it close with time as it is. The group should be here any minute. They'll be waiting in that room."
I looked over to the left wall of the porch. There were iron-barred glass doors leading into what looked like an opulent hotel lobby. The father had walked away. I walked over into the new room. There were three or four short steps leading down into the area.
The area was much wider than it was deep. There were huge chandeliers with incandescent bulbs. The walls were mostly wood. The carpets were all very nice, with kind of Persian designs, in maybe a tan and blue color scheme. There were little circular seating areas throughout the room, nicely upholstered and padded. A couple of big desks dotted the room. And at the far end of the room was a big, wooden staircase.
There were a lot of people bustling about in the room. But right as I walked down to the bottom of the steps I was confronted by a tightly packed group of well-dressed people. This was, I knew, the tour group the father had spoken about.
The father had supposed I was the group's guide. I knew this wasn't the case. But I suspected the guide would be along soon enough. If I could just stall the group until the guide got here, perhaps I could make a seamless transition, so that nobody would report me to the father as having been either a terrible tour guide or a fraud.
I was worried about my hairstyle. I could "see" my hairstyle. My dark brown hair was heavily gelled (!) and swept into something halfway between a squarish professional cut and a trendy, spiky-mohawk-type cut. I also really needed to urinate. So I wanted to get into the bathroom before I really got focused on performing for this crowd.
But the bathroom doors were right in front of me, along the wall to my left -- and the crowd were all standing in front of the doors. So I did a little bit of performing for the crowd. I didn't even really know what they were here to tour for. So, trying to act like I knew what I was doing, I also threw out some questions and statements that I hoped would lead the crowd to tell me what they were here for.
I still needed to urinate really bad. So I walked through the crowd, probably telling them that we'd start in just a moment, but that I needed to go to the bathroom first. I may have been worried, though, that while I was in the bathroom, the real tour guide would come along. I wouldn't be able to explain myself to him, and somebody might report me to the father. But I may also have mentioned something to the crowd about how the other tour guide, or even the real tour guide?, might be coming along soon.
The crowd seemed to clear some kind of space to the bathroom for me, or else, even though the crowd hadn't cleared a space, I may have seen how I could have gotten to the bathroom. But the bathroom I now had a clear path to was the women's, not the men's. I could see, on the wood door, a shiny, brass plate in the standard shape of a man, on the door of the bathroom I needed to get into. But it seemed like I was going to have a hard time convincing anybody to let me in there.
A view of something like a road in the desert -- flat, with sandy soil and clumps of grass everywhere. My view floated maybe 3 meters above the road and was moving along over the road at the speed of a car.
In the back of my mind I was feeling a story of a girl who was working through the boyfriend options she had on the internet. There were at least three boys the girl was interested in. The first and the third boy had the last name "Cartel." These two boys each had three names. The third boy's first name began with "Ph." The first boy's first name may have been William. I don't remember anything about the second boy's name.
The girl liked the third boy, Ph. The other Cartel boy was a big troublemaker. But Ph was a really nice boy. And the girl really wanted to be with him.
The girl's father did not want to have his daughter involved with anybody in the Cartel family. But the girl was trying to figure out a way of explaining to the father what kind of a good boy Ph was.
The girl's father came driving down the road, in the direction opposite the one in which I was moving, as part of a big group of vehicles. A lot of the vehicles were dark and shiny, like limousines. But there may also have been some motorcycles and other vehicles. They all seemed to be driving so that they made something like a triangle formation.
The girl's father, who was the leader of this group, may possibly have been driving the lead motorcycle. But even if he was in one of the limousines, I could see him, or sense him, as if he were at the very front of this pack.
Somehow it was now like I was this Cartel boy that the girl liked. I felt like I myself should somehow confront the father and let him know about myself. I knew the daughter would also probably still talk to her father. And I knew that the father would listen to the daughter more than to me. I doubted, though, that the father would really listen to either of us. But I figured I might as well try, anyway.
UPDATE: A discussion of the images in this dream can be found in this entry in my dreamday journal.