I was at work, and I was looking out the window down into the parking lot. Downstairs, I see my mother talking to a man. They conclude their conversation and walk away from one another. The older man ambles over to a silver car parked close to the building, flips open the gas flap, unscrews the gas cap, and proceeds to urinate into the gas tank. I'm experiencing a mixture of humor and shock as I clumsily try to dial my Mom's cell phone to tell her to look. Eventually I fail, and just snap a picture of the guy.
I'm sitting at work, but it's not where I work now - even different than the previous dream segment. It's some strange hybrid between my job as a network admin at a college, and some highly secret facility.
I'm sitting at my station, typing and reading. On the shelf above my monitor is a 35mm camera with its lens open, just facing out. Sean, my old boss, walks over and looks at the camera. He tells me that can't be there, and that I need to take it down. I take the camera down, close the lens, and get back to work.
"Okay, now pack up your stuff and get out."
I was confused. I mean, there were no pictures taken, and yet, I was still being fired. What bullshit.
I'm back home, and I'm packing up my stuff. I had an argument with my dad regarding why I got fired; he insists that I was taking pictures. My mother was trying to defend me by saying I didn't know any better, and that my pictures weren't harmful.
The problem is, I didn't take any pictures while inside of work *at all*. The camera was simply sitting on the shelf with a dead battery, and a roll of completely used film.
Nobody seemed to want to believe that - not Sean, not my mother, not my father. So I began packing up all of my belongings at home. I remember pouring my music collection into a duffel bag, along with anything else that would fit.