Who would want their head in a box?

It started out as applying to write a column for one of the big, well known Internet networks. It was a column about Canadian history. The office, it was an in person interview, was on a high floor of a tall glass building. The office was mostly glass with black trim and a very high ceiling. The man interviewing me was sitting behind a heavy looking dark wood desk in a black leather chair. He wore a nice, light grey, suit with a tie. I was talking to him (the editor and/or owner of the site) and somehow the thing about "Who would want their head in a box" came up.

Next thing we are in a dusty rural location, it looked like a dry sunflower field with all the flowers starting to finish up, looking dry and droopy. Dust was gently blowing around and I could see trees far in the background, no signs of other people. There was a pick up truck, I was the driver. The editor was in the back, in a wooden box, like a crate. But, his head was outside the box (still attached to his body) and he was complaining. I don't know what he was saying, I could see his mouth moving and hear the tone of his voice.

As I drove around with him in the back, in the air exposed to all the dust and pebbles stirred up in the field, he complained louder.

Somehow later I was gone. He was found by other staff, or his friends, just people he seemed to know somehow. I had left him buried in the field - standing upright with his head above the dry dirt. It was loose dirt, dry and not packed. He was already mostly free of the dirt when help arrived to bring him back to the city, or where ever the office was for the Internet network.

He called me next day and agreed that he would rather have his head in a box (than outside of it) as an option. I assume I got the writing job. But, I woke up about there and was trying to remember the details of my dream so I could write it here before I forget it all.