@bazkie Ok, just for you, (and so that I don't forget it)...

First, I was somehow invited to a banquet at some fancy hotel somewhere.

The banquet hall was a large ballroom type place, with a stage. Kind of art-deco, lots of curves, all white. Tall ceiling.

The tables were long and rectangular, with white tablecloths and flower centerpieces and so forth. Attire was formal, some men in tuxedos. Women in ball gowns.

I had gotten my food and was headed to my assigned table. I sat down in my place, which happened to be the "head" of that particular table.

To my left and right were two attractive young women. Both brunettes, I believe.

But as I'm happily married, and figured I didn't have anything in common with them anyway, I minded my own business as usual, and began eating while they had their discussion in front of me.

The woman on the left was explaining her comic book collection to the other. This intrigued me, because I'm a nerd. So then I began paying attention.

All of a sudden, a bookcase with her entire collection appeared to my left, and she pulled out her "prized" possession... a first edition X-Men #1, signed by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby.

She pulled it out gently with careful fingers, showed it to us with both hands, while looking suspiciously around the room, and then gingerly put it back onto the shelf.

I had a vague idea in my head of it being worth something around $150,000,000. (In reality, it's only worth around $15,000).

In any case, we begin talking about comic book collecting. The conversation continues and I tell them about my wife and family and my comic book collection, etc. It's a nice little conversation. Pleasant. Friendly.

I mention off-hand, that it seems to me that it's rare that young attractive women are interested in vintage comic book collecting.

--Record-scratch--- Everything stops.

All of a sudden, at the next table over, Dana White, of the UFC, stands up and glares at me. Taken aback, I say, "What's up, Dana? What's the problem?"

Dana White, of the UFC, proceeds to stalk over to me in his tuxedo, completely fired up, angry as a bull, and begins lecturing me about how sexist I am and how women are allowed to collect comic books, and that it's not rare, and that I should be ashamed of myself for even suggesting that it's out of the ordinary. He starts screaming that I was a sexist pig. He really wanted to hit me, but his thugs pulled him back.

The two women attempt to defend me, telling Dana that there is no reason to get upset, and that they agreed with me, and that he's out of line and out of control and should go sit back down.

Everyone's cooler heads prevail, and they go back to their table, Dana still glaring at me the whole time, and we all sit back down.

At that point, I notice that my silver metal spy briefcase is sitting on the table in front of me. And I realize that I had better protect that case, otherwise Dana's thugs might take it and get what's inside.

What's inside the briefcase, you ask? Poker chips. Just a generic set of nice poker chips so that I could play poker with the guys later that week. I was just carrying it around with me, for safe keeping. Because they're special, nice poker chips. Of course.

At that point, I realized that I was late for the Mountain Bike race. (You know, as banquets often precede mountain bike races.)

So I jump up to leave. The briefcase is still on the table, and another man at the table says he'll watch it for me, but that it's risky because Dana's thugs are still mad at me. But he'll do his best.

Flash forward and I'm in the middle of a cross-country MTB race. I'm barrelling down a course with small hills and lots of blind turns. Essentially singletrack, but flanked on each side by tall, green opaque fencing. So it's a bit like riding through a hedge maze.

Nobody can pass anyone. I remember thinking that this was a stupid layout for a race, because it's too tight and nobody can overtake. It's just impossible. So I settle in and just continue the race at a normal pace, and just try to enjoy it for the nice bike ride that it is. Riders behind me are furious.

I get to the finish line and then ride straight back over to the banquet hall, ditching my bike on the floor as I run to the table to make sure my briefcase is still there.

It's not there.

I walk over and question Dana White's thugs. Dana is nowhere to be found.

This leads to shouting, and the shouting leads to a fistfight. A classic barroom-brawl style fistfight. Real Cowboy stuff. Like, dudes swinging, and ducking and letting the other dude behind them receive the punch to the face. People being thrown over tables, hitting each other with chairs that instantly break apart, etc.

I nope right out of there and high-tail it to my car. I open the hatchback and there, miraculously, is my briefcase. I don't know why or how, but I'm relieved and thankful.

I close the hatch, hop in the driver's seat, and peel out of the parking lot.

The end.

Weird, right?

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