Outside, Linda and Karen arrive. It appears that they pay their driver in full, despite the oil problems. Go figure. Inside, they sadly note that they are all alone on the last plane. "Here we go again," they moan. Indeed, they are the Bad News Bowlers.
Unsurprisingly, Colin's taxi driver is not finished, as he has now brought a police officer, which is exactly what you should expect if you pull this kind of thing. Whether or not what Colin is doing is theft in a technical sense, which I can't speak to as a non-expert on Tanzanian criminal law, it's certainly theft in spirit, and I'd get a cop, too. A discussion ensues in which a lady at the airport who translates for Colin tries her best to tell him that the thing to do here is to finish his business with the cab driver and get on with his damn life, but that's not happening. Colin goes back to his "I'm happy to give him fifty dollars" routine. "Not fifty dollars," the woman tells him. "He wants one hundred." "Well, that's too bad," Colin says, turning back to the driver. "You can take fifty dollars, or you can take nothing." "I don't need fifty dollars," the driver says. "I need one hundred dollars." "Well, I'm not giving you a hundred dollars," Colin says. "You can bring any policeman you want down here, okay? You can bring the president of your country down here, and I'll be glad to talk to him." Considering that, as I understand it, said president was responsible for little things like, you know, reforming the entire political system, I don't suspect it would be a huge problem to deal with the likes of you, you sputtering dumb-ass. Colin repeats that driving two hours on the spare tire was "unsafe." Which is why when the cab broke down, Colin insisted on calling another one like Linda and Karen did, rather than just borrowing another spare and risking his life in that very, very unsafe situation. Oh, wait. He didn't. Aaanyway, Colin, the cop, and the cabbie go outside to continue their chat, and the cop invites Colin to the police station. Chant with me! Here we go: Throw him in the clink! Throw him in the clink! Anyway, Colin asks how far the station is, and the cop points out that it's kind of right over there, meaning that the guy is probably airport police as opposed to the regular kind. Which is probably lucky for Colin.
Once Colin arrives at the police station, he asks the gentleman behind the counter whether he speaks English. "Yes. Do you know how to speak Swahili?" Ooh, burn. Yeah, somewhere around here, Colin should have just realized the way the wind was blowing and cut his losses, but hey, that would be rational. And not adequately intense. Christie follows him, saying in an impatient, "Come on, dipshit, it's time to knock it off" kind of tone that she doesn't understand why he wasted time even walking over here. As if his girlfriend is quite simply the stupidest person he has ever met, Colin says, "Our flight doesn't leave for three and a half hours. This is going to take five minutes. So please stop making things worse. Please?" Worse than he's making them? That would be quite a feat, unless she manages to get them tarred and feathered and forced to swallow whole peppers until they catch on fire. Knowing it's futile to argue, Christie stands back and observes. Up at the counter, Colin repeats that he will pay 50 dollars, and no more. But he has no problem paying the 50 -- "No problem," he says. "Hakuna matata."