Trump has become the president or leader of the company I work for. There is some sort of gathering out at my parents' house, in the back yard above the house, for everybody to meet and greet him. It's a big crowd; I can only see his funny fake hair peeking out somewhere among the heads. I was trying to get over there to meet him, in the garden just above the back door, but I decide it isn't important enough to get through the crowd.

I'm considering whether I should tidy up my workbench at work. It's perpetually messy and chaotic, and for some reason I think Boss Trump might not like that, and being sort of arbitrary, might just offhandly fire me. I decide not to worry about it; oh well if he does.

I go down to the driveway to leave. A middle-sized airplane, like the size to shuttle around a few businessmen in luxury, is parked on the grass in the front yard, just to the right of the driveway. Must belong to Trump.