I dreamt that I became quite friendly with a waiter. With his reddish and curly hair, he looked like an Irishman. I think the café where he worked was in Cambridge, Massachusetts, but I am not sure about the place any longer. In his mid-thirties, he was quite clever and knowledgeable. He also struck me as wise. On the short side and rather homely, he was very friendly with all his customers, whose needs he understood very well. I remember trying to figure out how to help him out of his job and into a better one. He had little formal training of any kind, though. Besides, I was perplexed with my own wishes. What is wrong with being a waiter? And what would he gain by being a banker, say? Most important, why push him into something against his will? Nonetheless, I kept trying to figure out how to help him along. My confusion persisted even when I woke up in the middle of the night. Waiter content with his own life is something to be, I insisted. Yes, but… It did not take me long to fall asleep again, but the quandary popped up again as soon I woke up in the morning. Would I ever be content with my life if I were a waiter? If not, why not? What could possibly be wrong with being a waiter?