Searching Buddha

I am in a grocery store doing my weekly shopping. It is a big store, a proper suburban grocery store, with live lobsters and brooms and cat food all neatly organized and sprawled over many square feet.

I come around the corner and run into a coworker of mine that I do not know well, but like a lot. We smile and exchange pleasantries. She is here for the same reason I am -- we both need to stock up on groceries before we really buckle down and start studying for a big upcoming test. I wander back to the ice cream counter, where I simply must have Breyers mint chocolate chip ice cream, but they haven't got any in stock, so they have to mix it. My coworker asks me what the big deal is and I tell her to watch. The man behind the counter (who is exactly the sort you'd expect to work at an ice cream parlor) turns and mixes up the ingredients in this huge machine on the wall. We can watch the mix aerate and become fluffy ice cream. He stuffs it into a tub for me and hands to me.

I wake up - no ice cream at hand.