After a grueling day that only prisoners of Manzanar can relate to I caught the 11:35 (pm) to 左營. The main benefit to taking the train so late at night is that it is not nearly as crowded. Ordinarily (between 6am and 10pm) the trains are packed tighter than that porn star who set the record for most anal penetrations in one sitting. So to speak. A major drawback is that it does not arrive until after 1am, and since it is always delayed, even later. I “alighted” the train at 1:30am, a good 20 hours after I awoke. “Please watch you step when alighted”.
This is where things start to go downhill.
At 1:40am Pi Chi and I were in her three week old Mazda Isamu traveling down a relatively quiet street when a scooter monkey decided to drive across the road and directly in front of her car. Fortunately, she is perhaps the only Chinese person alive today who actually drives within the legal speed limit. Whatever that may be. It is not that she is a good driver. She has a fondness for making u-turns in the middle of congested roads and driving in multiple lanes at the same time. Neither of which are in any way uncommon here. But she does not usually drive terribly fast, which proved to be a good thing in this instance. Had she been driving like the rest of the country, said scooter monkey would be dead. As it was he suffered no apparent injuries and his scooter and her car were only superficially scratched.
When the scooter first appeared Pi Chi hit the brakes and my immediate thought was that she could not possibly stop in time. She did not. I believe I mentioned something about a dog’s male offspring. I was not concerned for his safety or ours. The impact was simply not that hard. I was not thinking of the immediate consequences. Indeed I was not even aware there would ever be any consequences. Abysmal driving rarely has consequences around here. I was not considering how this could hinder our impending weekend getaway. My sole concern at this point was that this asshole just scratched a brand new car. After 10 years another dent is just another endangered species going extinct. In for a penny, in for a pound, I never say. But that first scratch on a new car is worse than a lizard tail in your mashed yams.
While Pi Chi and Scooter Joe were squawking at each other in some heathen babble (after 20 hours of uninterrupted wake it all sounds like pigs being gutted to me) I was watching a police car casually approach the scene and wondering how and why they arrived so soon. A simple turn of my ever observant head revealed that across the street was a police station. Lucky us.
When the police arrived I wondered how they would interpret the situation. The drivers were male and female, and I could easily see the male police taking the male driver’s side. This is a very sexist country. I, being male, might be able to turn the tide if I could communicate effectively with the authorities. Sadly, I cannot. In this class-conscious society it helped that Pi Chi is the head nurse of the Intensive Care Unit of a very large and possibly famous hospital. Scooter Joe is a 7-11 cashier.
While all the parties concerned were arguing and the police were pretending to pay attention I noticed something that would make it very difficult for the police to ignore who was at fault. From about four meters away I could smell Scooter Joe’s breath. He also seemed to be having a difficult time remaining erect. This is not an affront on his manhood. He simply could not stand up. During the course of the evening I watched him stumble around in an attempt to walk. Although he was clearly inebriated his driving was not at all unique in these parts. Jumping in front of moving vehicles is like a hobby to these people. While driving I have had large trucks, buses, blue trucks, cars, scooters, pedestrians, and everything in between jump in front of me. Some months ago I could not stop in time and hit a child on a bicycle. His reaction gave me the impression that this was common practice for him. My hand was still on the horn when he got up from the ground and peddled away. Leaving the scene after hitting a child on a bicycle would be a very bad thing in most countries. Here it is in everyone’s best interest to leave the scene immediately.
After about 30 minutes Scooter Joe’s people arrived. They were five to twelve mostly young, ruggedly ugly betel nut chewers. The one in the blue t-shirt was older, and it did not take long for him to protest the situation. At first he wanted Pi Chi to just take some money and call it a day. The police thought that was a wonderful idea. They favor anything that lets them get back to smoking and watching tv. With a brand new car, all the proper insurance and documentation, and being in the right, Pi Chi wanted to do things properly. What was she thinking.
Blue T-Shirt Guy became increasingly hostile. When he started to yell at Pi Chi I stood between them, and he started yelling at me. I said a thing or two that was not entirely diplomatic, but I never matched his lack of control, and only one person there (Pi Chi) understood anything I was saying anyway. She later told me that he warned her against going out with a playboy foreigner and she told him that she sees people like his friend in the hospital every day, only in much worse shape. She obviously did not need my protection. 你去女朋 . (Literally, “You go, girlfriend”, but really gibberish). A linguistic example of the deeply rooted misogyny in Chinese culture: the 女 in “female” is also part of the compound words for slave, flunky, subservient, anger, cruel, tyranny, embezzle, coward, argue, and malaria. By contrast, the 男 of “male” is also in hero, embrace, include, and benign (not malignant) tumor.
After another 10 or 20 minutes Angry Blue T-Shirt Guy must have realized that the police were not going to just go away and he sprang into action. What I saw surprised me, and there is very little a drunken Chinese person can do at this point to surprise me. While yelling at both and/or either of the two police officers Angry Blue T-Shirt Guy grabbed one forcefully by the arm hard enough to turn him around. A hostile, possibly drunk civilian was laying hands on a police officer and there was no choke hold, no beating, no imprisonment. The police officer did not even tell Angry Blue T-Shirt Guy to back off. He simply ignored his assailant as if no one was clawing at him. Chinese police are impressively lazy. I would never begin to imply that American police are not lazy, but if someone grabs them violently they and 10 of their colleagues will become very active very quickly.
While I was still wandering in amazement another police car approached. It looked the same as the first car to me, but Pi Chi expressed approval that the “right police” had arrived. Being very close to the police station, the first police to arrive were merely the local precinct police, apparently not the appropriate authorities in a traffic accident. All of this explained to me, I began to understand why it was taking an hour to write up a minor accident and I was hoping that maybe we could end this soon now that the proper authorities had arrived. It was almost 2:30am.
When the traffic police arrived they asked everybody involved, and even the people who swarmed on the scene after the fact, all the same questions the other police asked. The only difference was that the traffic police came with equipment. They measured the distance between this and that and looked at the skid marks on the street and did all the things traffic police are probably supposed to do.
Pi Chi was able to convince the traffic police that Scooter Joe was drunk. The other police knew it all along, but that probably means more paperwork so they were willing to ignore the obvious. The traffic police whipped out their little breathalyzer and tested Pi Chi. I assumed they would be testing Scooter Joe forthwith, but minutes later Scooter Joe was still wobbling about while Angry Blue T-Shirt Guy was still yelling at everybody except Scooter Joe. Pi Chi later told me that he threatened to hit her right there in front of the police officers. They later said that they heard and saw nothing. Typical of the lazy, inept and often corrupt police force in a country where it seems that every type of official is lazy, inept and corrupt. I still could not believe that Angry Blue T-Shirt Guy was not bleeding and in chains. Or that he was in charge of the scene. He was not driving either of the vehicles and was not even present at the time of the accident, yet the police spoke with him more than anyone else and they let him control the situation.
Eventually the breathalyzer printed out a little receipt which Pi Chi had to sign. Her blood alcohol level was 0.00. Angry Blue T-Shirt Guy suggested that they test me. His theory was that I was the one driving and that I was drunk, despite the fact that I was the calmest person on the scene and the only one capable of standing still for more than ten seconds at a time. If you ignore that I have not had a drop of alcohol since 1987 one can admire Angry Blue T-Shirt Guy’s persistence in defending his friend, if not his methods. Considering the way people drive here the traffic police probably have more experience with traffic accidents than American police have with mustache grooming. It was pretty obvious from the location and position of Pi Chi’s car and Scooter Joe’s scooter that he had to have been driving across the street while she was moving straight ahead within the lane. Even if I had been driving it was clearly the scooter’s fault. I could not tell whether Scooter Joe looked drunk or was just naturally goofy looking, but he could not walk straight or speak clearly, whereas I was my usual pillar of poise, raging charm and enunciation. Not that anyone around here would notice. Pi Chi was somewhere in between, though further on the sober side.
After more questions and shouting the traffic police finally tested Scooter Joe. Angry Blue T-Shirt Guy was decidedly not happy about it. When the test result was printed I went and had a look. Since the scene was anarchy I had no problem looking at whatever I wanted to look at. According to this test Scooter Joe’s blood alcohol level was .54. That seems a little high to me (.08 is illegal in most of the US), although their system might be different from anything I know.
When it seemed like things were starting to calm down and maybe we would be able to leave soon Pi Chi informed me that we now had to go into the police station to give statements and fill out forms. Apparently the hour and a half we spent in the middle of the street blocking traffic was just to determine if the situation warranted going inside to do the paperwork. The scene inside was no better than that outside. Instead of a bunch of angry drunks wandering around the street there were now a bunch of angry drunks crammed into a tiny police station. While one precinct officer filled out a form of Pi Chi’s version of the story another handled Scooter Joe’s side. Scooter Joe had changed his story a few times, but now he was sticking to the defense that he was crossing at the intersection when we hit him. I do not know if he could explain how his scooter managed to fall 10 meters or more before the intersection when the impact would have forced him in the opposite direction. If you have never driven Chinese-style you might find it odd that driving a scooter across a crosswalk would be used as a defense, but driving on crosswalks is so common here that it is probably not illegal even if it is.
While Precinct Officer Number One was taking Pi Chi’s statement one of Scooter Joe’s friends was trying to convince her not to sue. Angry Blue T-Shirt Guy had been replaced by a slightly younger, much calmer version. While this New Guy never yelled at or grabbed anybody I considered him more dangerous. He was sober, calculating, and had an agenda contrary to ours. In a civilized country the authorities keep parties separated to avoid potential conflicts and make life easier. Here anything goes. While New Guy was trying to talk Pi Chi out of doing anything he mentioned the hospital where she worked. She was surprised that he knew where she worked and asked Precinct Officer Number One how this could be. Precinct Officer Number One pointed to one of the computer monitors that had Pi Chi’s information for all the world to see. Pi Chi wanted me to photograph the monitor, showing that the police were doing absolutely nothing to safeguard her information. I naturally assumed that the police would not let me photograph their equipment in their station, and I know enough about Chinese culture to realize that safeguarding personal information is an alien concept. I got my camera out anyway and expected someone, anyone, to tell me to stop. No one did. I was free to photograph absolutely anything I wanted.
During the course of the questioning I went outside to check on Pi Chi’s car several times. When we all went inside she had parked it near the station, but too far away to see from inside. Since some of Scooter Joe’s friends were loitering outside and none of them were entirely rational I felt it prudent to make sure that they were not vandalizing her car. I knew that if they did the police would do nothing. Just outside of the station door some of Scooter Joe’s friends were sitting in a van so I photographed it and its license plate. The van soon drove away. During one of my outings to the car I noticed that some of Scooter Joe’s friends were walking toward the station, away from her car. I went inside and told Pi Chi that I would be staying with the car from this point on. While I walked out to her car one of the police officers followed me. I have no idea why. He was certainly too lazy to be my protection. He watched as I inspected her car for damage and then wanted me to go back to the station. I told him that I was going nowhere as long as this car was vulnerable and those people were wandering around. I said this in English, but with the proper hand signals I think he may have understood me. He soon left and returned with Pi Chi. She told me that we could move the car in front of the station. That did not seem like much protection to me since these police are lazy enough to just sit and watch as someone destroys a car, so I had Pi Chi park directly in front of the door. Again, the police are too lazy to tell us to move it or give us a ticket.
After about an eternity it seemed like things were starting to wrap up. Precinct Officer Number One was getting all of his papers together and seemed to be finished. I asked Pi Chi if we were done and she told me that now we had to talk to the traffic police. I expressed my confusion as to why we were being questioned by the police for about two hours for a minor traffic accident and the drunk driver who caused the accident was not in a jail cell. Pi Chi told me that he would not be going to jail. Despite driving recklessly and causing an accident, despite wasting so much of so many people’s time, despite the fact that he was drunker than a televangelist on election night, he was not going to be arrested. Apparently driving drunk is perfectly legal here. The issue was not that he was driving drunk and could have killed someone. The only reason the police were involved was because there was property damage.
While Pi Chi was answering all the same questions with Traffic Cop Number One, Scooter Joe was in his corner answering questions with another traffic cop. The difference between Precinct Officer Number One and Traffic Cop Number One was that Precinct Officer Number One wrote everything down on pieces of paper whereas Traffic Cop Number One used a computer. I thought the use of technology might speed up the process and I was hopeful until I saw how Traffic Cop Number One typed. While most of us use multiple fingers (I use seven for some reason), Traffic Cop Number One typed with just one. The last time I was tested years ago I typed about 75 words per minute. My unofficial calculation was that he typed about one word per hour. It did not help that he stopped many, many, many, many, many times. He stopped typing the report to talk to other officers. He stopped typing the report to have a cigarette. Indoors, of course. He stopped typing to use the restroom. He stopped typing to argue with New Guy. Long after this had all stopped being amusing I implored Traffic Officer Number One to finish the report and argue with whoever the hell he wanted to argue with later. I pointed out that I could type it up faster, and I cannot type in Chinese. During the course of the evening I said quite a few things that I would never be stupid enough to say in an American police station. It was not the language barrier that dissuaded my self-censorship, but my knowledge that Chinese police are so lazy and so inept that one can violently grab them on the street without repercussion.
Eventually Traffic Cop Number One gave up and let Pi Chi type up the police report. I like to think it was my aggressive complaining, but the real reason was probably something baffling and unheard of in civilized countries. Why is irrelevant, but now Pi Chi, a civilian, was typing the official police report of a traffic accident in which she was involved. A bad idea? Definitely. Blatantly illegal? Probably. But it sped up the process considerably. Meanwhile Traffic Cop Number One was outside with some of his colleagues and Scooter Joe’s friends having a smoke and a good old time. As I watched the sun rise Pi Chi was just finishing what it took a “professional” hours to begin.
At 5:45am we left the police station and began our weekend holiday. So much for sleep. I had only been awake for about 24 hours at this point and knew from experience that I would be getting very little sleep over the next two days.
The drunk driver who started it all was not imprisoned, nor did he lose his license or his scooter. He was fined NT48,000 (about US$1,500). Although he did have to sit in the police station as long as we did and it probably took a lot out of him as the alcohol wore off. His hostile friend who threatened Pi Chi and assaulted a police officer went home with no repercussions whatsoever. We do not yet know how much it will cost to fix Pi Chi’s car, but I am certain we will have to pay for everything.
The people who pissed me off the most in this situation were the police. Scooter Joe did not bother me, although he is a drunk driver and should be made to suffer terribly. Angry Blue T-Shirt Guy was an asshole who said and did things that one really need not say or do to strangers in public, but it was probably all just that typical suppressed Chinese hostility. The police, however, are supposed to be professionals. They work an eight hour shift and it takes them half of that time to type up a simple accident report. What happens when someone is murdered. The best advice I can give to anyone who is in a traffic accident around here is to flee the scene as soon as possible. If you are in any situation that would normally require police assistance, resist your urge to seek out the authorities. Chinese police are more useless than a vestigial tube of cecum and take longer to excise. And they smell worse.
2 comments:
Y'all need to get some Texas police out there in Taiwan. Then Scooter Joe wouldn't be smiling because he'd have a baton up his ass. Then again, he probably would be smiling. Damn homo asians!
The Journey singer?
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