DREAM TWENTY-EIGHT

I'm in the home of my division head, only it's not his home. I'm humming I'm a Man You Don't Meet Every Day by the Pogues and walking around an open concept 1970s furnished kitchen.  Next, we go somewhere to film something work related with a professor in our department.  Right now, all I can remember from this trip is seeing one of those orange traffic cones half-buried under a lump of sod.

After this, we go to a restaurant that is open, spacious, dimly lit.  All of these adult types are gathering around a long high-top table, seating themselves.  There is a chair between the division head and the other professor with pretty light blue upholstery.  It is the only chair available.  I make my way to it and start to sit down when he turns to me and says, "no, this event is only for the board members."  It reminded me of the time I was getting up for communion at my grandfather's funeral and my grandmother put a gentle but firm hand on my shoulder like a teacher controlling a child prone to outburst and mouthed, "not you."  It kind of stung, you know?  

Still I step back from the table to the far wall and when I do, I notice there is some theater going on at the table I just backed away from.  This must be some kind of entertainment that the restaurant provides.  It looks like the most dramatic moments of a Greek tragedy are being acted out, only the actors are dressed up as animals.  There's violence and gallons of stage blood spilled at one end of the table.  Was it a rat king?  Was he just eviscerated?  In any case, before the dream ends, I remember feeling relieved to have been excluded.

(Please brain, tell me how you feel about academia.)