My travel-mouse had given up on me. So I cycled to a shop to get another one. I parked my bike in an open space.
Next to me, three people were working on one bike. Or rather: two men were kneeling and one girl was standing next to it, looking pretty. It looked like it was her bike. I thought she must have locked it and managed to throw the key away.
While I locked mine and pocketed the key carefully, the young man tore the plastic wrapping off a pump. He must have bought it in the shop, where I was hoping to find a replacement mouse. The elder man started pumping up the back tire. Boy helped. Girl still stood looking pretty and doing nought.
I went into the shop to search for a new laptop mouse. They sold the tiny ones I prefer. There was even one left in the right colour. So I joined the queue.
It was the turn of the woman in front of me, when the young man I’d seen working on the bike turned up. The cashier asked what he wanted.
In bad English he tried to explain.
“Oh”, the girl said, “You want to return it? It’s not working properly?”
He beamed and nodded.
She told him to join the end of the queue.
Once outside, I noticed the useless girl waiting with the bike.
It now had two perfectly pumped up tires.
She was waiting for her boyfriend.
He returned and handed her the refund for the “useless” pump.
While I searched for my key to unlock my bike, they cycled off.
A clear case of “recycle, reward”.