(Remember that episode of Futurama where Fry dreams about Lightspeed Briefs only to learn that in the year 3000 advertisements are broadcast into dreams? I’m pretty certain that’s what happened to me last night when I was dreaming this dream, except instead of futuristic underpants it was an advertisement for Long John Silver’s new “Freshside Grille”. The commercial for it makes me so hungry – I don’t really even like fish, but the food on that commercial looks so good.)
My dad, sister and I have just gotten back from Long John Silver’s after
derishus!
ordering just about every entree the Freshside Grille had to offer. This is a glorious occasion, so my sister and I dust off the dining room table – the table usually reserved for family get-togethers – while my dad arranges our copious feast in the middle of the table.
“Open the front door!” my dad booms happily. “I want the whole block to smell the wondrous aroma of our fantastic supper!”
I spring to the door and fling it open. I then go to the kitchen for some utensils and plates – the house’s finest china, of course. My movements are like that of a dancer, fluid and carefully executed, coming together to form a beautiful masterpiece of tablesetting. I pause for a moment to enjoy the pleasant smell of the fish on the table. It is so heavenly, I decide to open the door even further.
Then, in the corner of my eye, I see a small black object fly quickly into the room. I stretch my neck out to get a better view, not wanting to expose my whole body lest the unidentified object be a very large bug.
But what I saw was not a bug. It is a black box, bolted to the ceiling in the middle of the foyer. At closer look, I realize it is a security camera.
“Dad…” I start suspiciously. “Did you install a security camera or something?”
My dad stares at me for a few seconds. “No,” he says. Then he starts turning all the lights off in the house. Within seconds, the whole house is completely dark. He picks up the phone and calls the police.
“Hello, I have suspicion to believe that my family and I are in danger and that we are being harassed by Martin Crane.”
I have no idea who Martin Crane is or why he would be harassing us.
“Um… yes,” my father continues. “Yes, I believe he installed a hidden camera in our home… Well, actually, he didn’t do a very good job of hiding it, because he bolted it to the ceiling in the middle of our foyer… Yes, I’m almost positive it was him… Look, could you just send an officer out to our house so he can check things out? Thank you.”
Suddenly, I became very scared. If Martin Crane, whoever he was, could get into our house and install a security camera, he was certainly capable of breaking in to our house at night and murdering us. Tonight I’m going to sleep with a metal pole in my hand, I think to myself.
The phone rings and my dad answers it on the first ring.
“Hello? Yes, okay, I’ll be down there in a few minutes. Okay, goodbye.” He hangs up the phone. “The police want me to come down to the station, so I’ll be back in a few minutes,” my dad tells us.
“Wait!” my sister says. “Can I come with you?”
“Sure,” my dad says.
For some reason, I don’t ask to go with. They leave, and I’m all alone in our dark house. I hear a thumping sound from my sister’s bedroom window. Although I am terrified that it might be Martin Crane trying to break in to my house, I still move in for a closer look.
The glass shatters, and an old man, balding with white hair, crawls through the frame.
I accidentally scream. Martin Crane looks right at me and charges. He’s right behind me; I arch my back as I’m running, not wanting him to lay even a finger on me. I get outside and we’re running through a town square. I see a large, strong but friendly looking man walking towards a shop, and as I approach him I beg him to help me escape from the maniac that is chasing me. The man pulls me into a shop and leads me out the shop’s back door, and we’re instantly on the other end of the square. I thank the man for helping me, and he asks me if he can buy me a bottle of water since I look so exhausted. I oblige, and we sit together in a bookstore, as I sip my water, talking about Martin Crane. He suggests that I get a restraining order against Martin and shows me a book of examples of legal documents. I tear out the restraining order examples, just in case I need them. When I’m finished, I thank him again and we say our goodbyes.
As I leave the bookstore, I see Martin Crane sitting at a small table in the outdoor section of a restaurant. All of a sudden, I am no longer afraid of him. I pull the folded up restraining order papers out of my pocket and slide them onto his table.
“Sign ‘em.” I say.
He scowls at me.
I push them even closer to him. “Sign. Them.”
“You’re a slut, just like your mother.”
I am about to push them even closer to him, but this statement catches me off-guard.
“W-What? What are you talking about?”
“Just give me those papers,” he says. He pulls a pen out of his pocket and scribbles his name on the line. Then the throws them in my face.
“Whatever, pal,” I say, as I walk away.
Tags: advertising, break-in, dreams, food, home invasion, long john silvers, restaurant, restraining order
