White Whale Career Metaphor Acid Dream

I blame the Chicken Vindaloo

In the pre-COVID world of my dreams, I stepped up to the counter and greeted the cruise director. “Good morning. I’m Paul Ollinger in C-112. I think there’s an issue with our itinerary.”

“Yes, Mr. Ollinger, what seems to be the trouble?” replied the kind woman in a snappy uniform.

“I recall having signed up for the ‘Luxurious Do Nothing on the Beach’ package with the chaise lounges, foot massage, and a free rum punch. But this sheet describes today’s activity as ‘Pursuit of Deadly Career Leviathan.”

“May I see that, sir?” she said, taking my personalized schedule, then reading aloud:

“…stalk giant, elusive, and incredibly dangerous vocational whale in an authentic 19th-century schooner with a crew of madmen, cannibals, and a bat-shit insane captain. Expect to be wet, cold, and miserable. Side effects include vomiting, scurvy, and gut-wrenching self-doubt.”

“Does that come with the rum punch?” I inquired.

She answered, “No sir, I’m afraid it doesn’t. They may offer some musty ale, but you’ll have to fight off the harpooners for your share.”

“I was kidding,” I said, drearily.