Nothing especially meaningful in this dream, just a neat bit of wordplay that I would never have thought up in waking time.
I was working as a computer tech for a university.
(I'd been thinking
about those years in connection with NSA.) An older female grad student in Philosophy came to me for help. She was Belgian, and her name was causing trouble with the college administrative mainframes. Her name was Martina Jesus-Tinkle, which was apparently not funny in Belgium but triggered all sorts of anti-hacker alarms in our computers. She couldn't enroll, couldn't get her grades recorded.
I couldn't influence the university's enrollment computers because I was only in charge of a few research computers, so I sent her to the university's Legal Assistance department, where the law students helped her to legally change her name to Martina Sartre-Certes. She thought it was a neat pun, with maximum uncertainty and pure certainty sounding almost the same.
I couldn't possibly write such a story. Why does the dream-scripter use my body and brain's resources to develop these remarkably creative stories, which I can only glimpse by accident? It's like paying rent on a big mansion but having a key for one room. Or driving a car with a powerful engine that can't be shifted out of grannylow.