The Dream: I am at a church function, in a crowded hall filled with chairs and circular tables. The light level is dim; it is noisy and busy. I am in a long line of people waiting, cafeteria style, to get food. The person dispensing the food has the outgoing charm of a bartender. He is bright and shiny, with curly blond hair and angelic good looks. He is,in fact, the vicar. I’m aware that I think very highly of him.
When my turn comes I order a chicken sandwich. The vicar seems to work efficiently, but time goes by, and my food does not appear. After a while I see a tray near me and take it, soon realizing it’s not a chicken sandwich but has a small round quiche and some delicious looking salads. “Umm,” I think “this is clearly someone else’s, but it looks better than what I ordered so I’ll take it. I’m sure the other person will be able to sort it out.” I am feeling just that little bit uneasy about taking someone else’s food, which may have cost more than my chicken sandwich, but expediency wins the day, and I go on my way with my ill gotten gain, looking for a free table. I’m also looking forward to eating this delicious plate of food.
But wait! Now I notice that the lovely round quiche is half-eaten, with clear little bite marks where the rest of the quiche should be. I have someone’s half-eaten dinner. “Shall I eat it anyway?” I wonder. The thought of a stranger’s germs becomes too distasteful; I get back into the food line in order to exchange this meal for my chicken sandwich.
