The fuzz

"I'll have to give you a summons," he said. "The summons will cost 300 rinngit."

I'd been a bit apprehensive about dealing with the Police over here. Ideally, you never deal with them. They just complicate things. And everyone I talk to just tells me to bribe them. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

We were exiting a car park, turning right, and I illegally crossed a turning lane. Which, in a country where it's quite normal for scooters to drive the wrong way down exit ramps, is barely even noteworthy. Had I actually seen the policeman standing on the side of the road, I probably still would've crossed the lane.

I was then waved down by Mr Plod, who I think at the time was writing out parking fines. 

He didn't actually ask me for a bribe. He just kept telling me that the summons would cost three hundred rinngit. Which is odd, considering I've been on the Police website and there aren't any fines that cost anywhere near that much. He'd tell us this, and then crack half a smile, and leave a nice big space for me to offer to settle the bill now. 

I wasn't worried. I sat there calmly, and looked him in the eye. "That's too bad," I said.

On with the small talk. He asked us where we were from, and what we were doing here. His face quite amusingly dropped when he found out that I wasn't an engineer for a petroleum company(read: rich) and Jem was just a teacher. Not just a teacher, but clearly a woman, so she couldn't be making that much money. So after telling us a few more times that we would definitely be getting a summons, and it'd cost us 300rm, and then staring at us, with hope in his eyes... he let us off with a warning. 

It was a good month for cops. Actually, no it wasn't. But it was a very good month for me. 

We'd booked a Bali holiday with Jem's family. In a stroke of good timing, I had a mate from Australia over there doing pretty much the same thing I was, and we met up for coffee. And sandwiches. And beer. After all, it's Bali.

The cafe was out a ways from the centre of town and on my much longer than expected walk I'd learned that the taxis were kinda scarce. So to get home, I hopped on the back of Tim's scooter. I didn't have a helmet with me. 

Now I should clarify. 

I owned and rode a bike regularly back in Australia. I own and ride a scooter here in Malaysia. I value helmets. I like my head, and I think I have a good looking face, which under normal circumstances I take many precautions to protect. But it was only a short ride, mostly on backroads, and although the traffic in Bali is kinda random, the speeds are pretty low. So I made an exception.
As it happened, Tim had never been to the place we were staying, and I was still getting my head around the roads. Soon enough we were slightly lost, and eventually wound up at a fairly busy intersection manned by a few traffic cops. 

Now I'm 6"2 and I'd guess Tim to be at least six inches shorter that me, so my attempts to duck down behind him didn't really help. The copper waved us down.

Just before I hopped off the back, I leaned in towards Tim and told him to absolutely ride on and let me deal with the Po Po's by myself. He didn't listen. He did, however, park just far enough away that the policeman wouldn't walk over to him, and instead sat there and played an amusing 'Hey you!' 'Who, me?' hand gesturing game with him across the intersection. Eventually, the man in the hat gave up and went back to directing traffic. Well played, Tim. Well played.

Anyway.

The taller one beckoned me into the little Police box, conveniently located at the side of the road.

If there's anyone reading this who hasn't met me, I should explain that me referring to myself as 'a bit of a talker' is understating the point. In the words of a former girlfriend (who you don't know) I could talk underwater. I causally shot the breeze with my captor.

I explained the situation clearly and apologetically. I'd normally wear a helmet, for sure. I just couldn't get a cab. And then we got lost.

He wasn't really an active participant in the conversation.

He pulled a pre-laminated sheet of paper out from under a book, with the fines for various offences printed on it.

“In Indonesia,” he explained, “You must wear helmet.”

“I know,” I said. “I normally would wear one, it's just that I couldn't get a taxi. And we weren't going far, but we got a bit lost. Can you help direct us home?”

“In Indonesia,” he explained gently for the obviously slow minded tourist, “you must wear helmet. The fine for no helmet is 250,000R(about $25AU).”

“I see,” I said. “Oh well. If that's the fine, then that's how it is. I didn't mean to have come this way, we just got a bit lost.

“I'm Josh, anyway. What's your name?”

My new friend goes silent. 
Awkward silent. 
Which I thought was strange, but then, maybe that's just how he is.

“If I write you a fine, you must go to the Police Station,” he explained, “Or you can pay it now, and finished.” He made the palms down gesture for effect.

I was aware of what was going on here, but I wasn't really concerned. I figured that being an older guy, he probably had kids, and if the corrupt policeman's family, rather than the corrupt policemans somewhat corrupt government was going to profit from my sins, then I wasn't about to lose any sleep.

“Now because you are tourist, you have discount, so only cost 100,000 ($10) if you pay now.”

I agreed that 100,000 was better than 250,000, and pulled out the money and paid him.

“So we're a bit lost,” I repeated, “could you help us with directions? I can show you on a map where we're heaped, can you help us out on how to get there?”

He nodded happily enough, right up until I pulled a laptop out of my backpack. 
Then his eyes nearly fell out of his head.
“Is this where we are?”

Awkward silence.

“This intersection right here?”

“....yes...”

“So we head down that way, then?”

“.....Uh, yes, take second right.”

By this point he's looking very nervous, and the other policeman is shooting concerned glances over at my new mate and starting to walk over towards us.

“Oh, thanks heaps, mate, you've really helped us. What did you say your name was?”

His face changed again. No name was offered. I think I heard him sigh.

“Because you are tourist,” he said pulling the bill out of his book and handing it back to me, “I will give you a warning. Tomorrow, you wear helmet.”

I thanked him again, profusely, but he seemed to look at me as though I was insincere.

It was only later that I realised what I'd done, and what I must have appeared like to him.

Other than to always carry a laptop(because it makes you look very official) I'm not really sure what I learned from this.

I don't like the idea of a corrupt police force, but now that I've learned what they actually get paid, I don't like the idea of a poor police force either.

So I'm still on the fence what to do.

There are a few absolutes.

Be friendly, as this seems to catch the police off guard. I tend to think that in the majority of circumstances, accepting to pay a written fine will result in the police letting you off. Everyone hates paperwork, especially if you don't get paid overtime.

Always, always remember that you are a guest of whatever country you may be in. Remember that Australian woman who got locked up in Thailand for stealing a bar mat? She probably would have received a warning had she not made very loud derogatory statements about the Bangkok Chief of Police. That's poor form.

Don't be that guy.

On both occasions, the truth of the matter is that I was only pulled over because I'm white. No question.

But I don't think that pointing out this obvious discrimination would have helped my case.

I'll leave it to you to draw your own conclusions as to what is right and what is wrong.
But I'll part with this:
Act within your conscience, act politely, always, always ask for their name (I mean, that's just polite, really) and at worst? It'll still cost you less than a parking fine on Malop street.