Living the Dream in Paris

Glass exploded in my face as the deafening percussion pounded my ears. “GET DOWN! GET DOWN!” Brad screamed. “THEY’RE SHOOTING AT US!” I dove to the floor of the Mercedes, just as a big, hairy hand reached menacingly towards me. My fantastic dream had just turned into a living nightmare!

We were driving in the middle Paris, France, heading towards the huge international airshow there. The French presidential entourage was ahead of us, jamming traffic as far as the eye could see. It would take us forever to get through the gridlock. I found myself muttering under my breath at the delay, while praying for patience. The French military and Paris police were guiding the President of the Republic through the mess as quickly as they could. Once he was clear, the rest of us could finally follow.

I had been daydreaming of going to this airshow for a long time. Our aviation university had a booth and chalet booked there, and I was part of the team organizing our share of the massive event. We had rented several huge Mercedes Benz limos to haul all of our staff, as well as our printed material and other promotional items to the show. My vehicle had Mike and Brad in front, two burly air force veterans who had been doing the heavy lifting, while I rode in the back, jammed in with packages of brochures and lots of giveaway goodies.

Since I had been so excited about this trip for a long time, it wasn’t surprising that I was having reoccurring dreams about it at night, too. The dreams were generally convoluted, yet pleasant, except for one repeating theme. I would see a door at the end of a hallway, that seemed ominous somehow. I chalked it up to stress, and didn’t let it ruin my trip.

Our group had made all of the preparations and were now putting our plans into action. However, we hadn’t expected that the President of France would be going to the show at the same time and on the same road. It made sense, of course, since he would be delivering the opening speech at the Paris Airshow. There was nothing we could do but sit in the traffic jam, until it got moving again.

That’s when the windows blew up in the car we were in and we hit the deck, fearing the worst. The hairy hand that I could see reaching towards me through the pulverized glass grabbed my bag and hauled it out through the smashed window. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I was being robbed. My whole life was in that purse.

The robbers hadn’t shot at us, but had run through the packed lanes of traffic to the back of our rental car and did a lightning smash and grab with hammers. By the time we reacted, they had escaped on foot through the gridlock and were gone.

My day had suddenly gotten much worse. I had just been worried about being stuck in traffic, but now I was covered and nicked by shards of glass and all my important documents disappeared with the criminals. My passport, cash, credit cards, cell phones, official documents, personal stuff, and laptop computers were all in that bag. It was a terrible blow that felt irreparable.

Mike and Brad felt sheepish about misinterpreting the attack and not being able to catch the robbers. There was nothing we could do except wait out the traffic jam, as I shook broken glass out of my hair in the back seat of the car and Mike dug through the emergency kit for bandages.

Once finally clear, we found a police station to make our report. They said that this type of crime was common in blocked traffic. Their police force had been concentrated on protecting their President, so we got some sympathy, but didn’t receive a lot of help. Next, we headed to the rental agency to file a claim and exchange our damaged vehicle. Finally, we headed to the American Embassy to start the paperwork to replace my passport.

The whole day was shot. I was exhausted and sick about losing my bag. The documents would be difficult to replace while some of the data on the stolen laptops was irreplaceable. I couldn’t even think about what had happened without breaking into tears. I tried to pull myself together as I walked through the lobby of my hotel. I had to repeat the whole sordid tale to the staff at the front desk, as I requested a replacement key for my room. I had checked in on our arrival first thing that morning, but hadn’t seen the room yet since we rushed straight off to the airshow. I was past caring if I had a decent room. I just wanted to try to get some sleep and for this horrible day to end.

Finally accommodated, I walked to the elevator like a zombie with leaden feet. I was totally fried and could barely make it to my room. The elevator ascended, the doors opened, and I found myself staring at the same ominous door at the end of the hallway that I had seen in my dream. The number on the door confirmed it was mine. Unbelievable. Frozen in place, the elevator doors shut again in front of me. Composing myself, I hit the button to reopen the doors. In my dazed state, I couldn’t read the signals of what my gut was trying to tell me. But I did need to get some sleep.

The doors to the elevator opened again, giving me another view of the hallway. In the same instant, amazingly, my room door at the end opened! Out popped the same hairy man that had stolen my bag earlier that day! He clearly had taken the original key from my bag and had found the hotel and room from the writing on the key fob, boldly setting himself up for another score. Little did he know that I hadn’t been up to the room yet, so there was nothing of value for him to steal. Our eyes locked as he recognized me and raced towards me.

I frantically punched the close door button repeatedly, just before he had time to reach me in the elevator. Inside, I thrashed at the ground floor button, screaming at the elevator to move faster. It dumped me in the lobby, where I ran shouting to the staff in the reception area, alerting them to what had just happened.

We never saw the crook emerge. He must have taken the back stairs into the alley to make his escape. I was chilled to the bone thinking about what could have been.

My persistent hotel hallway dream had made me pause long enough to save me from a dangerous situation. From then on, I learned to listen to and trust my gut instincts. I now always analyze and try to interpret my dreams, however odd they may seem.