I wound up in the kitchen, where I convinced the chef to let me cook. I prepared olives by stuffing them with blue cheese and slivers of flank steak, then battered them and deep-fried them. A culinary success!
After that I had to take the train out of town. It was a rickety local, ancient, battered Pullman cars with no service on board, but that was fine. I wound up in a train station remarkably like Portland's Union Station, though it was some dream-locale, not my own beloved PDX. A cranky woman who resembled my first wife (whom in real life I have not seen or heard of in nearly 20 years) was arguing with someone about a diorama of civic improvements to be made in the area. I got involved in the argument, cooled everybody down, and wound up making out with her on a train station bench while disapproving Pullman porters in spangled suits (think some Busby Berkeley version of the classic uniform) prepared a SuperLiner for a long distance ride.
I got dumped by this gal, too, missed my connection for the SuperLiner, and wound up hungry and alone in the empty train station.
Interpretation of this dream is left as an exercise for the reader. Feel free to contribute in comments