Fresh out of a semi military school, we were trained to be a bunch of gallant individual. You know the lot that opens the elevator doors for women, not staring at cleavages, and always give our seat to senior citizens, the handicapped, and women in particular pregnant ones.
Jakarta however has this power to change my set of fine etiquettes into one with a more sinister brand. Of course, I still behave rather impeccably in front of colleagues, clients, and particularly the in laws, regardless of the situation. Nevertheless, in public there has been an apparent decline of good manners.
Riding the bus for example, there has been countless time when I chase them bus to their starting point so it was empty. Found me a good chair, and when the bus started rolling there was a lady, sometimes pregnant sometimes the elderly kind, did not get a seat. Almost consistently without fail, no body gives them their place.
Now and again, I wonder why it has to be me most of time all the way from the back to sacrifice my sit and stand during the rough ride of Metro Mini or PPD buses.
Perfectly understandable, knowing that everybody must be very tired, after long and hard labor. I do not blame them at all. I blame the ineffectiveness of our transportation system.
From 2004 to early 2008, I did not use bus a lot. Mainly because we lived nearby the office and all our favorite malls. Pejompongan is such a strategic place, less than twenty thousand Rupiah (around USD 2) by old fare cab to almost every destination we desire.
Since March though, I would have to use the bus to get home. My office is in Mayapada Tower, Sudirman. I could just stand beside the road and pick 17 or 52 to Bekasi. People have already crammed inside like sardines. It is going to be a long ride, more or less 90 minutes in Jakarta’s humid and hot air with male sweats and stinks. It is heavenly.
To get a proper sit I could just wait until 9 pm when it is not that crowded anymore. Alternatively, I could walk a kilometer to Landmark building when the buses are empty.
This is where it gets tricky. After long walk, of course I get tired. I decided I deserve to sit comfortably for the rest of the taxing 90 minutes. Starting a few weeks ago, I have reduced the type of people I hand out my seat to. Not just any women, they would have to be old, unmistakably pregnant, a combination of both, or very pretty and looks frail.
Deep inside, I felt guilty definitely. I am sure time eventually will erode that guilt into oblivion.
For now to minimize them I usually pick a seat by the window or deep in the corner, and just looking outside to avoid the glance and stare of some women who happen to stand in the aisle. Occasionally though, I would have to give in, when the shame turn out to be irrepressible.
Now the annoyed glance and stare though ironically coming from the male passengers who just sit there casually. As if it’s my fault they feel uneasy for looking ignorant. Every so often, I picked up a hint of smile, probably sniggering; hey, we’ve got some gentleman among us.
I felt uneasy too and trying hard to look nonchalant.
This is what Jakarta and probably other metropolises could turn us into; we could feel uncomfortable for doing something good. It’s jolly good for sardonic value.
Uh Oh, Happy birthday Jakarta!
Jakarta however has this power to change my set of fine etiquettes into one with a more sinister brand. Of course, I still behave rather impeccably in front of colleagues, clients, and particularly the in laws, regardless of the situation. Nevertheless, in public there has been an apparent decline of good manners.
Riding the bus for example, there has been countless time when I chase them bus to their starting point so it was empty. Found me a good chair, and when the bus started rolling there was a lady, sometimes pregnant sometimes the elderly kind, did not get a seat. Almost consistently without fail, no body gives them their place.
Now and again, I wonder why it has to be me most of time all the way from the back to sacrifice my sit and stand during the rough ride of Metro Mini or PPD buses.
Perfectly understandable, knowing that everybody must be very tired, after long and hard labor. I do not blame them at all. I blame the ineffectiveness of our transportation system.
From 2004 to early 2008, I did not use bus a lot. Mainly because we lived nearby the office and all our favorite malls. Pejompongan is such a strategic place, less than twenty thousand Rupiah (around USD 2) by old fare cab to almost every destination we desire.
Since March though, I would have to use the bus to get home. My office is in Mayapada Tower, Sudirman. I could just stand beside the road and pick 17 or 52 to Bekasi. People have already crammed inside like sardines. It is going to be a long ride, more or less 90 minutes in Jakarta’s humid and hot air with male sweats and stinks. It is heavenly.
To get a proper sit I could just wait until 9 pm when it is not that crowded anymore. Alternatively, I could walk a kilometer to Landmark building when the buses are empty.
This is where it gets tricky. After long walk, of course I get tired. I decided I deserve to sit comfortably for the rest of the taxing 90 minutes. Starting a few weeks ago, I have reduced the type of people I hand out my seat to. Not just any women, they would have to be old, unmistakably pregnant, a combination of both, or very pretty and looks frail.
Deep inside, I felt guilty definitely. I am sure time eventually will erode that guilt into oblivion.
For now to minimize them I usually pick a seat by the window or deep in the corner, and just looking outside to avoid the glance and stare of some women who happen to stand in the aisle. Occasionally though, I would have to give in, when the shame turn out to be irrepressible.
Now the annoyed glance and stare though ironically coming from the male passengers who just sit there casually. As if it’s my fault they feel uneasy for looking ignorant. Every so often, I picked up a hint of smile, probably sniggering; hey, we’ve got some gentleman among us.
I felt uneasy too and trying hard to look nonchalant.
This is what Jakarta and probably other metropolises could turn us into; we could feel uncomfortable for doing something good. It’s jolly good for sardonic value.
Uh Oh, Happy birthday Jakarta!
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