Dream About Riding Bike In La Struggle In Parking Garage Building With Plush Red Carpets

This dream was about

I was living in LA on my own. I was young maybe in my 20's-30's and I was going to the Dr.'s. I was riding a red bike through the busy streets and I couldn't look up the address and ride the bike at the same time so I pulled in to a parking garage to stop and pull up the address on my phone. When I did that a valley came up to me trying to help and when I told him I didn't want help he grabbed my phone and we struggled for it. I was so mad! He just wouldn't let go. Finally he did and I went into the building to complain about him, but everyone was so busy they didn't want to listen. Finally, I got a hold of someone a man and a woman who worked there. Everyone was wearing a red and black uniform that looked a bit like a porter from the 1930's. It took a long time to convince them that the man had grabbed my phone and was fighting with me, but finally the woman said, "Why won't you believe her when she tells you this? Listen to her!!!" I felt better that someone believed me, but the man still wouldn't do anything about it. Finally, I gave up on getting any real satisfaction, and realized that I wasn't going to make my appointment. It started raining and my red bike was out on the terrace. I wanted to get it in but couldn't. The building I was in looked a bit like a movie theater on the inside with plush red carpets and lots of stairs everywhere, white walls, black railings. The men working there all had black hair and I think they were Asian. The only woman working there was white with sandy brown long curly hair ties in a low ponytail. We could see the terrace through a wall of glass doors. Some would open and some would not. I began collecting things because I noticed more and more of my things lying around. Once the rain cleared I went bAck and forth taking my things outside to put them with my bike. Soon more people started coming and they brought their things in suitcases. It seemed like suddenly we were in an airport but the building looked the same. We were all waiting and waiting, sitting on the floor, crowded together. I gave some candy to some little girls and when I saw their mother, a small black woman with curly hair, I said, 'Im a bad influence." Someone behind me started talking about Sidney Portia and I said, "I met his wife on a plane. She was so nice.". When the woman asked more, somewhat skeptically I said, " It was his second wife, after the kids were grown. We were flying from CA to NYC.". This seemed to convince her. Finally, some kind of transportation arrived and I realized it was the next day and I wasn't sure where all my things were. I was afraid they'd been stolen but they hadn't. At that point I woke up with a song from my childhood that I think my mom used to sing, in my head.