When I was writing my last post, I didn't expect any retaliation from TransJakarta. Honestly, it didn't even occur to me to diss the bus. That time, I was innocently sharing all my experiences in being a busway regular: the long walk between shelters under the sweltering heat, the mysterious delays of the buses. It's kinda fun because I believe that some of you haven't tried it. And I had a lot to say about TransJakarta anyway.
Call it a divine punishment or anything you want, but the busway successfully made me suffer this week. On Monday, I couldn't go home until 6 o'clock-something. I proceeded to the Salemba UI shelter as usual with a happy, unsuspecting heart. Well, the fun ended there. The shelter was already quite packed, but it turns out that most of the crowd were lining for the bus to Matraman like I. Just my wonderful luck! To allow us more time to let in the bustling busway shelter atmosphere, no bus came for almost fifteen minutes...only on my side. The other side, heading to Ancol, got rows of mostly-empty buses in a tight conga line.
When a bus finally came, the passengers inside were packed more tightly than Dewi Persik's bum in her jeans. No-no, I didn't pay Rp 3500 to get squeezed in a bus of many smells, so I gladly let it go. Then another bus came, not so full, but the holy guardian of busway doors only allowed half of the line to board it. If you notice this post's pattern, you can guess what's coming: yeah, the guy in front of me got on the promised bus, but I can only curse him wave him goodbye. Another ten minutes, another grey bus finally approached the shelter with enough space to let this humble man in. Finally I could start the journey home...although I couldn't say that it's a fun journey.
The pattern prevails; the busway god hadn't forgiven me yet. I had to make full use of my hands and feet during the ride, i.e. I had to stand in the narrow aisle, hands holding fast to the grippie-thingy. (If you have the heart to help me expand my vocab, help me change that "grippie-thingy".) Salemba to Matraman, standing tall; Matraman to Dukuh Atas, standing and surviving; Dukuh Atas to Al-Azhar; hardly even standing. I should really ask for a partial refund of my 3500 rupiahs since I didn't use any seating facility on the bus. Blurgh.
The next day, I had to ride the bus again and I think the busway still held some grudge. I had to wait for ages before a bus came, without any empty seat. Then, from Salemba to Dukuh, the faux-scheduling system intervened. At one point before Manggarai, the bus suddenly stopped for nothing. It just stayed in the middle of the lane, which was actually empty. You cannot call me impatient: I had waited for a considerable time before my trip resumed at full speed.
Fortunately, the remainder of the trip wasn't as torturous. I finally got a seat because after one particular shelter the bus became empty like a mosque after Ramadan. The mighty busway had been appeased. Hurray!
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