Yesterday when I got off the train in San Cristoforo (pictured here during the big snow of 2006), I went to get my bike and my seat was gone. There sat my wonderful bike, looking a bit like I imagine the headless horseman looked like to Icabod Crane. Now I know that you might not think that a seatless bike is a horrifying sight, but I would beg to differ. It is horrifying because of what it represents to me. Most likely it was some idiot kid who took it because he could. However, I live in a community of less than 1,000 people, not in some bigger place where you get used to the invasions of everyday life. When I told my husband he said, "what!! In San Cristoforo." I felt it destroyed my happiness here just a little, not a lot, but just a little.
I won't be able to get a new one today, as it's a holiday here. Friday will have to do. I'm afraid of the expense. Often the cost of these type of parts can be a large percentage of what you originally paid for the bike. I'll also now have to worry about how to secure the seat so it won't happen again. These aren't huge insurmountable problems, but it makes me sad that I have to consider them.
I have in mind that I should put up a sign at the train station thanking the culprit for improving the comfort of my ride. I've been formulating how to say this in Italian for many hours. It was the last thought I had before I went to sleep and the first one I had when I woke up. I'm surprised I didn't dream about the whole incident. I guess I hope that some sarcastic sign will instill a little guilt in the creatin, but I'm sure he (yes, I am assuming it was some pimply teenage male with an overabundance of homones) won't even think twice. I hope he at least uses it. I'd hate to think he just tossed it away.
The weird part was that I didn't know what to do. I wanted to call the police, but I was sure they wouldn't be interested. Then how would I say it all. These aren't conversations I've already had with someone. The most difficult things to talk about in any language are the ones you've never talked about before. Here, each novel situation brings the horror of unlearned words and sentence constructions. I think I will report it to the train authorities in Trento, but I am prepared for indifference and outright hostility. The folks that work for Trenitalia seem generally harrassed, and are often hostile if you present them with a problem that is not easily solved.
Well, it's a beautiful day here. I think I'll walk to the station and take a look around. Maybe my teenage friend left the seat in the trash.
UPDATE - UPDATE:
I took the walk and found the seat. The precocious little imp had hid it behind the ticket machine. What a great laugh, ha ha! I'm not sure if it has restored my faith in humanity though. At least I don't have to buy a new seat.
I won't be able to get a new one today, as it's a holiday here. Friday will have to do. I'm afraid of the expense. Often the cost of these type of parts can be a large percentage of what you originally paid for the bike. I'll also now have to worry about how to secure the seat so it won't happen again. These aren't huge insurmountable problems, but it makes me sad that I have to consider them.
I have in mind that I should put up a sign at the train station thanking the culprit for improving the comfort of my ride. I've been formulating how to say this in Italian for many hours. It was the last thought I had before I went to sleep and the first one I had when I woke up. I'm surprised I didn't dream about the whole incident. I guess I hope that some sarcastic sign will instill a little guilt in the creatin, but I'm sure he (yes, I am assuming it was some pimply teenage male with an overabundance of homones) won't even think twice. I hope he at least uses it. I'd hate to think he just tossed it away.
The weird part was that I didn't know what to do. I wanted to call the police, but I was sure they wouldn't be interested. Then how would I say it all. These aren't conversations I've already had with someone. The most difficult things to talk about in any language are the ones you've never talked about before. Here, each novel situation brings the horror of unlearned words and sentence constructions. I think I will report it to the train authorities in Trento, but I am prepared for indifference and outright hostility. The folks that work for Trenitalia seem generally harrassed, and are often hostile if you present them with a problem that is not easily solved.
Well, it's a beautiful day here. I think I'll walk to the station and take a look around. Maybe my teenage friend left the seat in the trash.
UPDATE - UPDATE:
I took the walk and found the seat. The precocious little imp had hid it behind the ticket machine. What a great laugh, ha ha! I'm not sure if it has restored my faith in humanity though. At least I don't have to buy a new seat.
1 commento:
Hey,
What I've read of your old blog and your new one are great reads. I love the Jarmusch story on the old blog.
You spin a great narrative-thanks for posting.
H.
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