Taxed in TransJakarta

Don’t tell me I got my priorities mixed up just because I don’t blog about the whole Gaza tragedy right now. I happened to experience my own personal tragedy right here in Jakarta, last Monday. So, if you haven’t exhausted all your sympathy for the war-torn Middle East, spare me some.

Although I generally hate Mondays; January 12, 2009, was a fine Monday. My school activities for the First Aid Module were very interesting and certainly unique, my reward for the gruelling two weeks of clueless Research came out (an “A”, yay!), and I’m entering the recruitment process for one of my faculty’s student organization. No crap whatsoever was bugging me. There’s no way I could’ve guessed what was coming that afternoon.

Long and exhausting story short, I finished everything at 5-ish and it was getting dark. I took the TransJakarta and, after a short detour to Gramedia Matraman, headed home. The journey is somewhat OK in TransJakarta standards: long lines instead of waiting for an eternity; standing in the bus instead of packed like a can of sardines. When I reached Dukuh Atas for the last leg of my daily journey, I SMSed my mom with my Nokia 5300. *Report to the big boss, check.* Then, I put the phone back into my pants (in the pocket, of course). Turns out that it would be the last time I’ll ever see my beloved 5300.

After waiting for a while, I got into a bus. If I’m not mistaken, it was around 7 o’clock and the bus was full of office workers making their way home. At one of the bus stops after Dukuh Atas, either Setiabudi or Karet, lots of passengers got off the bus. Inside of the bus, it was chaotic. Some were struggling for the door, some hunted for empty seats, while others made room for the passengers getting off. I was unsurprisingly pushed here and there because I stood near the door. I felt my cellphone vibrate. (That’s an important point) Considering the chaos, I didn’t pick it up straight away and continued my resistance against the flow of people. A few seconds later, after the mess ended and the doors are closed, I wanted to check my cellphone. My hand went for my pocket, entered it, and found…nothing. WHAT THE WHAT!!? I groped that same pocket again and again, then I searched the other pocket. No result. I checked my extra tote bag. Still no-no. I scanned the bus floor. Nothing there either.

Tick-tock, tick-tock. Aaaaaaaaaaarggggh!! Someone stole my cellphone!! It must have happened during the chaos at the bus top, right when I felt my phone “vibrate”. Aaaah blurgh. I wanted to tell the security guy inside the bus, but instantly realized that it would do no good at all. I swear I must’ve looked like a mentally-ill guy in that bus. I was so stressed and sad that I’ve lost my dear phone. Since I got my first cellphone in 5th grade, this is the first time I lost my phone. There’s a huge difference between buying a new phone to replace an old one and having to buy a cellphone because the old one’s stolen. There’s no sense of achievement or pride for keeping a stuff entrusted to you.

Not long after that, I soon realized the real problems ahead. I have to apply for a new SIM card-with the same number, fortunately. I can’t even imagine having to announce a new number to all of my contacts. After that, I have to browse around for a new phone (which would’ve been great if not for this incident). Last, I have to collect all my contact data and put them in my new phone. Believe me, I know how annoying that could be.

Currently, I’ve only managed to get the new SIM card; and I’m looking for the new phone. By the way, this incident didn’t deter me from riding TransJakarta. The next day, I already went back to normal life and normal TransJakarta ride. Like I have any choice! Perhaps this is a punishment for my trashtalking TransJakarta. Or NOT!! FYI, TransJakarta actually deserved all those harsh criticism.