I had a dream that I was driving somewhere and I got lost. There was a dirt road that grew increasingly indistinct, until I wasn’t sure if I was following the road anymore. Eventually, I found that I was on somebody’s farmland. She came out to greet me, with a thick accent. I said I was lost and was looking for the road. She said she didn’t know, and suggested we go into town while we figure it out.
The town was very small, but seemed to bewilder her. I asked if there was a music store nearby, cuz I wanted a new CD for when I continue my trip. She took me to the shop of an instrument-maker. The lady asked the fellow there if he spoke German, and he did not, so they continued in some sort of sign-language. (I later asked her where she learned that, and she seemed confused by the question). Apparently, this was a small town of German and Dutch immigrants who were so insular that they barely learned English, didn’t learn each other’s languages, and whose customs had never changed since their first settlement. They were barely aware of the outside world. Also, unlike the Amish or somesuch, they had not chosen a life of voluntary simplicity – they just didn’t get out much.
Well, the lady apparently asked the guy if he had any music, and he started showing me instruments. I explained that I was looking for CDs (I had to address the lady in English and she would sign to the guy, because he only knew Dutch and local sign language). He sat around and scratched his beard for a second and then brought out a few random CDs that were sun-faded and scratched up. I don’t think they understood what they were. I said never mind.
Then the lady said that if I liked music, I should stay for the big dance tonight.
There was a big dance. It was something similar to, but not identical to, contra dancing. I recognized some of the moves that people were doing, but the figures were more intricate, and you interacted with more than just a partner and a neighbor. Perhaps it was English country dancing – I’ve never done that.
Eventually, I heard some commotion. I ignored it for awhile because I was having fun dancing, but eventually I wanted to see what it was. I picked up a penny I found on the ground, on the way there.
Apparently, there was an auction going on, and everybody was mad because John Heiftje (mayor of Ann Arbor, in real life) had come and bought up this antique guitar that was made in town, and was the pride of the town – a symbol of their identity – and he intended to remove it from town. The instrument-maker had been in possession of the guitar, but had fallen on hard financial times, so he was going to auction it, thinking that only somebody else in town would want it, but nobody counted on the big-city mayor Heiftje and his collection of antique instruments. Apparently, the sale was made final just before I got there, and the people were outbid by one penny – even pooling their money, they couldn’t come up with the penny.
I proudly held up the penny I’d found on the dance floor, but they said that the sale was final. The people pleaded with mayor Heiftje to open the auction again, but he refused, and started noodling around on the guitar.
I got mad at him and smashed the guitar, under the theory that if the townsfolk couldn’t have it, nobody could.
The people were shocked by my actions, and began acting coolly toward me. It was not their way to openly express anger, but it was clear that I was no longer considered a friend.
Then I woke up. I assume I left town after that.