Dream 390: Rbn

04.11.2015 § Leave a comment

I’m going to meet Carter for drinks to discuss a creative project, but I’m early arriving to the meeting vicinity, so I drop in to a nearby restaurant for a quick bite. Turns out he’s here too, so I pull up a stool to him at the crowded central counter (like a Matsuya). I realize talking to him here that maybe it wasn’t appropriate to even bring up him doing music for my movie since I can’t pay him for a while yet.

Watching a Coca-Cola training video with Reubino and my dad. They’re making a joke of it like it’s a rap video, shooting super low angle as Reubino shakes his butt. They’re making a mockery of the consumer base. They’re chuckling to themselves about soft drink industry price fixing.

“At least I don’t think there’s any drink we charge the premium price for which doesn’t have extra special ingredients,” says Reubino. “No wait! What about Diet Mountain Dew!”

“Oh yeah!” my dad says. “It’s basically like a nicotine patch!”

Worst of all, they are doing an awful job stacking the product in the warehouse. The two short dimensions on twelve packs are slightly different, so if you don’t get the rotation right, the gaps add up and the stack is unstable. I don’t think they’re being careful enough here so that even if they got the rotation right that their stack would be solid anyway. And all the product is haphazardly mixed in together too.

It’s my first day working at the Coca-Cola office. I’m laying on the ground next to my desk, trying to flick mini soccer balls across the room into a goal up which is in a corner in the next room with a desk butted up against it, when Fievel comes by to drop off some instructions.

Rubin (not Reubino) is my deskmate. I can hear some pretty cool sounding metal blasting from his headphones. I ask to listen. He lets me borrow his headphones for a minute. Turns out this is his own music he’s been listening to. It’s just two guys, him and his brother. I ask whether he’s drums or strings, but can barely understand his answer. I ask how long they’ve been playing, he answers, even less comprehension. I try to ask something else but he interrupts me asking a question back. I can hardly even understand that he’s asking me a question. He says something including the number “99”. I can’t believe it at first but gradually come to the realization as he goes on that he was actually quizzing me on what he just told me. ’99 was the year they started playing I guess. He wanted to check if I was actually retaining any of this or just wasting his time as a fan boy shooting off questions. “You should just come to my next show man, we’re about to head down to Coachella.”

Now I’m picking up pins on the floor, trying not to be such a packrat or slob like Fievel told me was company culture. Oh wait, shit, Fievel is a high-ranking guy who I’m friends with outside of work, and neither of us behaved familiarly in our previous interaction at all!

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