Dream Job

I always know that I'm going to wake up tired when I spend a night working in the book warehouse. Last night I had to do inventory, and it wasn't any fun at all. Back when I worked in a real book warehouse, I kind of enjoyed inventory. It was kind of like a holiday. Everyone, including the office staff, came out and counted all the books we had on all our shelves. Twice. As part of the warehouse management, it was my job to watch over this process, and double check any vast discrepancies between the first and second count. But the thing that made it really interesting was the night before, when there were only three of us hanging around until the wee hours printing the counting sheets, sharpening pencils by the gross, and eating McDonald's cheeseburgers by the bagful.
In my dreams, it's never quite as much fun. Like last night, it was much too dark, and the shelves were too close together. Even though I eventually found the title I was looking for with a flashlight and three different sets of directions, I still ended up confused as to exactly how many were actually on the shelf because they were stacked so precariously. Of course it didn't help that I had a number of different employees coming up to me during my search and asking me questions for which I had no answer. In this way, the dream was very much like real life, and in this way I took some mild comfort from it.
Then came the denouement: My father appeared, and stood quietly by as I finished a third and fourth count of the stack that kept shifting. He was very patient, but I knew that if I stopped and talked to him, the magic would end. Sure enough, when I stood up to speak, he just nodded, and I woke up.
I never would have guessed that a book warehouse would be a place to go for solace, but something about this dream made me feel safe. Seeing my father again was nice, but disconcerting at the same time. Over the long weekend I had reminisced with my mother and younger brother about Memorial Days past. At the end, we came to the same essential conclusion: The past is just that, and you can keep it safe in a box to take out on those special occasions. Look, touch, reflect, replace, return to present. But only after a second count.