I'm at a vehicle station, that doesn't exist in real life, near the intersection of highways 217 and 26. It's a drive-through arrangement, where we are apparently required to go to get tags for the car. Either I know the woman working there, or maybe we just get to know each other, but we have a conversation and after I get my tags I tell her I'll be back in a while, I have to bring my camper as well.

But then I have my camper and for some reason I go to a different such station, in another part of Beaverton, like Denny Road. Apparently I had to be there anyway, making it more convenient. So I pull into this station with the camper. I make a wide turn in the parking lot, to a gate into parking garage, but I look ahead and the road goes down and takes a very narrow turn with cement walls on both sides. No way I can do that with the camper. So, I guess I shouldn't have come here. I'll have to back out; I think I can do that.

But I turn around and my camper is gone. Apparently I completely forgot to connect it properly, just rested the tongue on the ball and it fell off just behind on the road, and rolled away. So we (not sure who, but somebody is with me) jump out and go running to find it. There's a slight downhill on that road, and on the next block are a couple of campers parked, but it's not one of them. We go down there and look around. We find a Mexican-looking guy who says he knows where it is, and asks us to wait and he'll come back. I think he's trying to extort some money from us. I'm not sure if my camper even survived this whole ordeal; it's not really made to survive crashes. Then I realize that I didn't set the brake on my truck properly, and it too has rolled away. "Man, just one expensive mistake after another," I say.

(Last weekend I accidentally dropped my phone in the leaf shredder, which it did not even remotely survive. I called it "an expensive mistake".)