All I recall from what preceded this dream is a flash of a world map (I see Russia in pink) and a feeling / knowledge that I'd been engaging in a sort of long historical slug.
I sat in a high school history classroom with Dan Carlin as instructor. He was lecturing about the the Cold War; specifically about a group of subversive American professors sympathetic to the socialist cause holding clandestine meetings in barns and abandonded factories to formulate teaching plans tailored from their beliefs but also harmless enough not to blow their cover. Their masterstroke was a fictional chin up, kind-hearted truck driver character who dogged long hours on the highway, back pains and all, without ever seeing his home or his family, only the next super store or storage facility. The concept was dubbed in his honor "Truck Driver Socialism". Dan told us that they would ask their students to list things the (hypothetical, though they earnestly believed him to be a real figure in western society) socialist truck driver would say to the struggling and straggling hitchhikers he rescued from the highways of the Midwest or Canadian taiga. The students would get sucked into the scene and receive the fundamentals of communism in a different light.
He decided that we'll have our own truck driver socialism discussion too, to demonstrate how effective the tactic could be. He murmured about wanting to start off with the perfect candidate before chosing me; I'd been aggressively scratching a nostril and was just about to slip into daze. What a funny coincidence it was that this topic should come up since I'd recently taken an interest in truck driver cliches. It wasn't a joke but dan and a few of my classmates laughed anyway, I wasn't sure why. Only one classmate I can describe - a sharply featured corn-haired girl a few rows in front of me and one coloumn to the left. She was looking at me with memorable dispassion mixed with an expectancy for an answer. The problem was I couldn't give any. I folded my hands over my nose and thought about sitting in the truck's passenger's seat during a snowstorm facing a hearty truck driver. No answer was synthesizing quickly enough (in the dream this simultaneously felt like an instant and an uncomfortable drag). When the silence had gone on for too long I said to everyone sheepishly "sorry, give me a bit". Carlin looked disappointed and slightly annoyed.
The next thing I remember is (a video of?) shirtless DannyPost too long. Click here to view the full text.