As I write this column, a major Wall Street bank has been in the news for allegedly defrauding its clients. This might explain a dream I had recently.
I lumber downstairs. “Good morning,” the wife chirps. “What would you like for breakfast?” “How about some scrambled eggs and bacon?” “OK, honey,” she says. But a few minutes later, she slides a bowl of cornflakes in front of me. “But what about . . . ?” “Shhh, I know,” she says, “but I’m late for my spa treatment.”
Disappointed, I eat, get dressed and head out to do errands.
“Hey, Steve,” says Marko, the barber. “What’s your pleasure?” (I’m dreaming, remember?) “Let’s go really short. I like to stay cool in the summer.” “No problem,” he says, clipper humming around my ears. A few minutes later he stops. “All set!” “Wait,” I say. “You hardly took any off!” “I know,” he answers. “See you in a couple days?”
Next I drive to my car dealer. After about 15 minutes, the service manager calls out. “We found a few problems while doing the tune-up.” “Tune-up?” I ask. “I just wanted an oil change.” “I know, but the computer says you need a tune up.” “But I . . .” “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “You’ve got a store credit card, right?”