Last night, I returned to my dream job. At my dream job, I work in an office environment; our company resides on one of the middle floors of a large skyscraper. I'm not entirely sure of my responsibilities, even though I've had this job for about fifteen years. In fact, I don't even know the name of the firm, or what we do, or how I landed the job.
A typical worknight begins like this: I return to the office, wearing a dress shirt, dress pants, dress shoes but no jacket. I'm worried because I haven't shown up for work in months. But the office is usually near-deserted anyway; typically, only one of the receptionists greet me.
I work at a small desk in a glass-walled office near the middle of the floor. I'm responsible for about a dozen other employees, but I've never met them face to face, nor have I ever assigned them any tasks.
Last night a receptionist told me that Tylee (who is Tylee?) had left some papers for me to photocopy. Sure enough, there was a stack of papers on my desk, some printed on pink stationery. I sorted through them and noticed a note from Tylee, but before I could read it I woke up.
My dream job offers neither pay nor benefits, but the workload is minimal and my coworkers unobtrusive. All in all, it's not a bad part-time gig.