Week 5 - Saturday. Saturday dawned bright and clear, a typical suburban weekend unfolding outside Theo's window. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with the lingering scent of stale coffee and the low hum of potential energy, both from the un-enhanced Bike 2 leaning against the wall and from Theo himself. His bank balance, $2615.62, was a comforting sight compared to the abyss he'd stared into just weeks ago, but the success of selling Bike 1 hadn't erased the ingrained caution, the constant low-level anxiety. Tomorrow's meeting with Sarah, and the $4800 she represented, was crucial for building real momentum. He was planning his day, enhance the bike this evening, get everything prepped for tomorrow, when his phone buzzed with a notification from the marketplace app.
He glanced at the screen. New Message from: PedalPusherPete.
A humourless smile touched Theo's lips. Pete. The lowballer. The one who'd wasted his time behind that strip mall on Monday, trying to bully him into practically giving away the first masterpiece. His message preview read: Yo bike guy. Still got that Giant? My offer $2700 cash still good if u want it today.
Theo reread it, annoyance prickling beneath his skin. The sheer, unadulterated gall of the lowballer. After being firmly rejected, after Theo had clearly signalled the price wasn't negotiable down to that insulting level, Pete assumed five days had somehow made Theo desperate enough to crawl back? The memory of Pete's dismissive attitude, his performative fault-finding, the barely concealed desire for the bike warring with his aggressive cheapness, it all came flooding back, leaving a sour taste. He pictured Pete swaggering away in his rusty truck, probably laughing about the sucker trying to sell a used bike for too much.
Theo looked at his current balance again. Stable, but not invulnerable. Then he thought about the $2700 profit already banked from Dave, and the potential $3600 profit waiting tomorrow with Sarah. And this clown thought he could circle back with his insulting offer? Oh, no. The predatory instinct honed in corporate backstabbing merged with a street-level vindictiveness born from years of feeling looked down upon. Pete wasn't just a lowballer, he was a symbol of the grasping, entitled users who thought they could bully their way to a win. He deserved… a lesson. An inconvenience. A public display of his own foolish greed. An idea, sharp and deliciously mean, formed in Theo's mind. Time for a practical demonstration of market realities, he thought, the internal corporate drone voice dripping with sarcasm. Subject: PedalPusherPete. Initiative: Negative Reinforcement Training.
His fingers flew across the phone screen, crafting a reply dripping with false urgency and capitulation. Hey man. Crazy you messaged. Yeah, still got it. Had some unexpected bills come up. Market's dead quiet. Honestly just need the cash fast now. Your $2700 cash offer... if you can meet me in the next 30 minutes, deal. Gotta be quick though, seriously. Meet me outside 487 Main Street? I'm nearby. He chose the address deliberately, a comedy club called "Laugh At Me", in a busy suburban crossroads about twenty minutes away, ensuring Pete would have to rush, fueled by the fear of missing out on the "deal."
The reply came back almost instantly, practically vibrating with avarice. !!! On my way!! DONT SELL IT TO ANYONE ELSE!! Be there 20-25 mins!
A cold, sharp satisfaction spread through Theo. Perfect. He grabbed his keys, leaving Bike 2 safely inside, and headed out to his car. He wasn't going to meet Pete, merely observe the results of his little social experiment. Operation: Humiliate Lowballer commencing. Data acquisition phase initiated.
He drove towards the comedy club, timing his arrival carefully. He parked across the street and down half a block, finding a spot with a clear view of the club's entrance but ensuring his own beat-up sedan blended into the suburban background, unlikely to be noticed. He slouched down slightly, pulling the brim of a baseball cap low, grateful for the slight tint on the windows.
A few minutes later, Pete's battered pickup truck roared into view, pulling over haphazardly near the club entrance with a squeal of protesting brakes, engine idling impatiently before cutting out with a cough. Pete jumped out, Theo heard the slam of the heavy truck door echo slightly, phone already in hand, scanning the street, radiating agitated energy. He paced back and forth in front of the club entrance, his work boots scuffing loudly on the pavement, where a small queue was beginning to form for an afternoon show. Theo watched, a detached, almost clinical sense of amusement growing within him. Ten minutes passed.
Pete checked his phone repeatedly, his pacing becoming more frantic. He tapped furiously on his phone, sending messages as if his life depended on it, or more accurately that his dream bike was slipping away from his fingers. Theo felt his own phone vibrate in his pocket, pulled it out, and saw the message: Dude I'm here already, been waiting 15mins already, where are you?
Theo responded after another 5 minutes, his fingers almost dancing on the phone as he typed his response, savoring the delay. Traffic, almost there. Wait for me!
Twenty minutes. Pete's face was visibly darkening under the afternoon sun, a glint of sweat visible on his forehead. He kicked at a loose piece of trash on the sidewalk, sending a crumpled coffee cup skittering away. He ran a hand violently through his thinning hair, looking up and down the street with jerky, frustrated movements. People in the comedy club line glanced at him with open curiosity now, then pointedly looked away.
Twenty-five minutes. He leaned against his truck, arms crossed, foot tapping furiously – a jackhammer of impatience. He looked like a cartoon villain whose elaborate trap had just sprung shut on himself. Internal Assessment, Theo thought coolly. Subject exhibiting Stage 2 agitation. Proceeding as planned.