dream; storytelling even at night

the scene
a dream in which i'm driving my girlfriend to work in a jeep that belongs to her boss. the jeep is identical to the jeep she normally drives, only it belongs to her boss for some reason.

the problem
there are no parking spaces save one, and the cars parked on either side of the available space are inclined toward each other at the sidewalk end, forming a sort of 'V' where the jeep is entering the large end, and headed toward the small end - a collision course.

a solution
i suppose the best solution to this problem would be not to park, and to let my girlfriend walk the 25 feet or so to her office. this is dreamworld though, so the best solution is obviously to get as far into the available spot as possible, perhaps within a centimeter of a car on either side, without contacting either of the other cars. this i do, very cautiously. my girlfriend exits stage, (i understand that with the snugness of the parking this is a physical impossibility; refer to the scene), and i begin to back out of the spot.

an unforeseen complication
a slender black haired women about 30 years old in a skirt suit gets in front of the jeep and starts flailing her hands and screaming at me. i back out enough to exit the car, then exit the car. she thinks i ran into her car. i'm sure that i did not. while talking to me, she points to a scratch, (wider than a thumb and from her driver side handle all the way to the bumper along the length of the car, and all the way down to the steel), and demands that i explain it. i said it wasn't me, and she says that she knows. i'm confused here. she says that the scratch was there, but that she's pretty sure i made it worse. i disagree. i re-enact my parking in the jeep to prove that i didn't hit her car; she does not believe that that is a very accurate demonstration. i draw a graph with chalk, this also does not convince her. things of this nature continue for a bit, to no avail. throughout these processions, in the back of my mind, i recall, as if in a dream, the tiniest bit of resistance during the parking maneuver; possibly akin to that experienced by a large snail when pushing through a fresh young grass chute, oft completely unnoticeable. it is because of this feeling, combined with the womens persistent nagging, that i agree at the possibility of just barely, albeit not in any way incurring responsibility for the ginormous scratch, nudging her car. she is not satisfied. i tell her i will pay the damages of a spot next to the door handle, about half an inch squared. she gives me her insurance information, (this may not make sense, refer to the scene), and while leaving i look her in the eye and say "this doesn't make you happy does it?", referring of course, to my planned smallest of small contribution to her total repair costs. she glares at me.

a surprising accuracy
although i will not go into detail, several other equally long scenes followed. the strange thing about the following scenes, (including being in a college next to some lockers, in a gymnasium where there are tryouts for a sport i have never heard of, and being downtown next to a sort of fountain during a public festival), is that during each of them, i was able to find someone that i knew, at least a bit, and tell them the story of the lady in the glasses. i must have told that story some four times throughout the remainder of the dream. i'm such a talker, it's really funny. a particularly funny scenario: i'm downtown next to fountain with josh, a friend of mine. there is a public festival of sorts and beer is only $1.50 for a 16oz plastic cup. we are drinking beer. i have already told josh the story about the car scratch and the lady. we meet some people whom i am vaguely familiar with, possibly went to high school with them or something. i tell them, (two guys), the car lady story. shortly after, i admit to not being able to remember their names, and we casually part ways in search of other company and more beer. this is a surprisingly accurate portrayal of me using other people, or rather their characteristic reactions to me, as a way of clarifying and solidifying my universal image, that is, what i am really like, not what i think about myself.