There was an IT consulting office and I don't know how I took up so much of the floor person's time without actually buying anything, first with some hardware question and then with some procedural question and then asked about how one becomes a consultant there. Every time the topic shifted she sat me down at a new table; at the last, I had to drag a chair over to seat myself.
She asked what business name I'd be repping them under and her dad will want to vet it, him being a board member(?) and I responded oh yeah, I worked for your dad, recycling a vague sideways memory of my relationship with the owners at the card factory or the tape factory. Her dad owned a factory, chemicals or organic solvents or something allusive to the tape factory without being the tape factory.
(Recalling this stirs memories of other dreams with a factory on a hill, and a floor plan sloping and winding down underground. Maybe Keith worked there. Maybe there was a flashback in this dream.)
This probably would not have occurred to me in waking life: 13 years ago when I registered it, ChaosSociates seemed edgy and hip. Now, I feel like if the name is "saying" anything at all, it's not saying the right thing, or not saying it well. In the dream I said if we go ahead in a partnership I'll probably incorporate a new entity for the purpose.
I woke without any resolution, waiting in the parking lot for some literature while the auto shop workers on their lunch break milled around my car, which was the Buick Riviera from that tape factory era.
There was another dream before or after, something about being home as much as the temporary place could be called home. A tiny efficiency apartment with private entrance facing out onto Pine St (at the corner of Cherry) and a railroad. Cops buzzing around, and a lightning storm brewing.