On my way to lunch. I noticed a huddle had formed on the opposite side of the road. I also spied the white helmet of a police officer at the center so I ran over to have a look.
A dark guy with a satchel was also at the center, examining the handlebars of an electric bike, under the watchful eye of the policeman, and fifteen or so old men who had formed a huddle around them.
“Not so bad,” proclaimed the policeman. “And the other one?”
The scrum of smelly old guys parted as he made his way through it to another electric bike that was propped up nearby. The huddle re-formed around him and the second bike. Its owner was standing next to it anxiously.
“Nothing. No damage at all.”
He made his way back to the first bike, the huddle dispersing around the second bike and coalescing once again around it, him, and the man who was still examining its handle bars.
“Two hundred. At least.” said the man meekly, as he noticed that everyone had rejoined him.
“Look, I’m not going to repeat myself again, that’s totally unreasonable. You’re not going to get two hundred.”
One of the old guys shouted his agreement.
“It’s broken though, it’s completely destroyed, I…” he mumbled.
“There’s damage, I’ll give you that, but there’s no way that it’s two hundred’s worth. You don’t want me to give him a ticket now, do you? He’ll get booked, you’ll have a broken bike, no one wins. It’s not as if you can’t still ride it.” said the policeman firmly.
“No one wins!” said the same old man. I think he was trying to be helpful.
“You take the money, you can fix your handlebars, get a new helmet, and fix your phone. Good as new.”
“Two hundred. I’m not sure I can even ride it.” he was saying.
“It’s fine. You can agree to a hundred, like he’s offering. That’s a reasonable price. You can get all the damage repaired.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s going to take two hundred to fix all of this…” he said faintly. But the general consensus among the unemployed elderly men, and those cyclists who had stopped to watch was that two hundred was way too much.
“Two hundred? For that?! You’re kidding! I’ll fix it right now, for fifty!” someone shouted.
“Look. One-fifty. Tell him one-fifty.” said the owner of the damaged bike.
“Give me the money.” said the police officer to the owner of the undamaged bike. He handed over a 100RMB bill.
“Here you are,” said the policeman, giving it to him.
“But one-fifty…” he began, but stopped mid-sentence.
He took the note.
Immediately, the mood lifted. The rider of the undamaged bike rode off, with a hundred RMB less in his wallet, but without getting a traffic ticket. The crowd seemed thoroughly satisfied that the right thing had been done. But the guy with the damaged bike, despite the old guys telling him he was doing the right thing seemed a little pissed off with the whole situation.
