The Lambretta Incident | The Dreamweaver

Updated: Jan 13, 2021

We had just disembarked from the ferry and needed to walk up a steep ramp to the platform to catch out connecting train into town.

As I heard the train arriving in the distance, I ran up the ramp with intention of getting to the train and holding the door open for my two travel companions—one of which was an elderly gentleman, less spry than the other man—who were lagging behind.

However, when despite my arriving at the train just in time, I realized it was the wrong train going to a different destination.

Just then, I saw that the correct train was pulling up behind, so I quickly ran back down the ramp to advise the two men that that our train would be pulling onto the platform as soon as the train that was there now pulled away.

But just then, we watched as the second train switched tracks and rolled off in a different direction.

Frustrated, I looked up at the digital screen only to notice that it would be another hour before the next train arrived, so I suggested we rent a car to get us to our final destination.

Next, I found myself with my travel companions in the outdoor collection area where we had picked up our rental cars and while we were waiting for the third man’s car to arrive, I made a comment to the men about how much larger the tail engine on the ship that was docked just in front of us was than an airplane's.

While observing the massive ship while sitting in my rental car, the vehicle suddenly began rolling backwards as I apparently forgot to engage the handbrake.

The car rolled slowly back until I was able to stop it, but not before lightly brushing up an old blue and white Italian scooter.

As there was no one around, one of my companions suggested it was no big thing and we should just be on our way, while the other man was adamant that we leave a note, certain that the insurance would cover any damage.

I asked him to please go inside the office to fetch a pen and a sheet of paper for the note.

Just then a short, middle-aged man who looked like he could pass for a teenager approached and observed the damage to his scooter asking me what had happened.

He wasn’t upset but said that since the scooter was an original vintage Lambretta worth 20,000 dollars, the repairs and paint would be quite costly.

It struck me as odd that this little toy-like scooter was really as valuable as the men had said, but at the same time worried that the insurance company wouldn’t pay for the damages and I would be stuck with the bill.

Then I woke up.

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