Check out of the resort and go to a small town in the middle of nowhere. There is a mom & pop convenience store with a deli attached. Pop is no longer with us, Mom is a pudgy woman who strikes me as evil in some way. The store has a hand-written sign done in spray paint on a piece of wood which looks like it was ripped out of the bottom of a sunken rowboat. I can't make out the name of the store. Inside the store it is dark, there is just a counter with some pens and pencils in a glass beer mug, and the owner is sitting behind the counter. To my left is one of those refrigerators with a glass door holding soft drinks, and it looks fully stocked. There is also a rack of small bags of potato chips on the counter. Nothing in there for me, so I go outside, and next door to the deli. Somehow in the time it took me to go outside, many years have passed, Mom has done very well with the deli, and now the spray paint sign hangs over a spanking new modern-looking building. The store is still the same dingy empty place, but the deli is now an open store font - no door, the whole front wall is open and people are lined up to be served.
I decide I don't want deli, I want a sit-down dinner, so I walk a little ways to a Middle Eastern restaurant. A gypsy woman is sitting at a small round table, heavy wood, big enough for two people to have dinner. She has no cash box or cash register, but she is clearly the person you order from and pay for your meal. One by one, two or three people come up to her and order something which sounds to me like "keefee" or "keetee" and I get the impression it's some kind of cured beef. I see them pay, it's $18. So I order, mumbling "keetee" so that if I've got it wrong she will think I've said it right. I look in my wallet, and there is only a 5 and a couple of 1's , so I ask if she takes credit cards. She looks at me like she did not understand. I take out my credit card and show it to her. She says something through clenched teeth, with muted anger, but I can't understand. I ask her to repeat it, and get a slightly angrier, louder response which I still can't understand. Her accent and the clenched teeth thing is making it not understandable. A waiter comes by and says, in the same gypsy accent but clearly, "we do not like credit cards, but accept them for the convenience of our guests". The gypsy lady unclenches enough for me to understand that I need ID with a photo which looks like me on it, not something taken 20 years ago. This is when I wake up.
Good thing, too, because in the dream, and in the waking world, my driver's license photo was taken 20 years ago, and looks very little like the mostly bald, white-haired middle-aged man I am today.