In my city, Balikpapan, we refer the public transportation as “taxi” not “angkot”. And we refer real taxi as “argo” (so by paying a little much higher, you can be Jason for one day). I usually take one of those taxis (fake taxi, I mean) to go for work. Although the number of people who have cars and motorcycles are increasing rapidly, taxis never lose their fans.
I always like to watch everything happened in the taxis, including conversations being transpired, the looks of drivers and passengers, and so on. But there’s one thing that always bugging my mind : everytime a taxi stop and one passenger is about to leave, the number of drivers saying “thank you” are so much more than vice versa. What a shame, I sometimes think, because one simple thank is not difficult to say, and who knows, it can bring a certain revelation.
So, in that particular day, I was in one of those taxis. I sat on the front seat, next to the driver. This driver was a big, burly man, with slightly long hair, sun-burnt skin, rough fingers, big moustache, and a pair of lips with the corner that seemed always point downward. A type of guy whom you wouldn’t want to mess up with. Normally, I do not easily freak out, but this guy did really freak me out when he yelled at another taxi driver and a Caucasian guy who abruptly cut his way. He yelled “f*** you !” Seriously. He really said that. Naturally, all the passengers became uncomfortable with this driver, and said nothing more to him than “stop” when they finally arrived.
But, as a person who got good manner lessons from her mother (though I probably forgot some of them in the past few years), I said “please, stop” instead of just “stop” to him. He seemed indifferent. Allright. I gave him the money, then I looked straight to his eyes, smiled, and said “thank you, sir.” Slowly, the corners of his mouth turned upward, the corner of his eyes wrinkled, and he said “you’re welcome” in a sweet voice, accompanied with a polite nod as if I am his close neighbour. He was still scary-looking, but he was no longer scary for me.
Few minutes after his taxi gone, I still stood on that pavement, pondering. Then, when I resumed my walking, I smiled. That simple “thank you” really had effect for two person’s heart : me and the driver. He looked happy, and so did I. He probably looked so scary because he simply never had reasons for being polite, until someone showed him a little-but-genuine politeness, by saying a simple thank you.
I always like to watch everything happened in the taxis, including conversations being transpired, the looks of drivers and passengers, and so on. But there’s one thing that always bugging my mind : everytime a taxi stop and one passenger is about to leave, the number of drivers saying “thank you” are so much more than vice versa. What a shame, I sometimes think, because one simple thank is not difficult to say, and who knows, it can bring a certain revelation.
So, in that particular day, I was in one of those taxis. I sat on the front seat, next to the driver. This driver was a big, burly man, with slightly long hair, sun-burnt skin, rough fingers, big moustache, and a pair of lips with the corner that seemed always point downward. A type of guy whom you wouldn’t want to mess up with. Normally, I do not easily freak out, but this guy did really freak me out when he yelled at another taxi driver and a Caucasian guy who abruptly cut his way. He yelled “f*** you !” Seriously. He really said that. Naturally, all the passengers became uncomfortable with this driver, and said nothing more to him than “stop” when they finally arrived.
But, as a person who got good manner lessons from her mother (though I probably forgot some of them in the past few years), I said “please, stop” instead of just “stop” to him. He seemed indifferent. Allright. I gave him the money, then I looked straight to his eyes, smiled, and said “thank you, sir.” Slowly, the corners of his mouth turned upward, the corner of his eyes wrinkled, and he said “you’re welcome” in a sweet voice, accompanied with a polite nod as if I am his close neighbour. He was still scary-looking, but he was no longer scary for me.
Few minutes after his taxi gone, I still stood on that pavement, pondering. Then, when I resumed my walking, I smiled. That simple “thank you” really had effect for two person’s heart : me and the driver. He looked happy, and so did I. He probably looked so scary because he simply never had reasons for being polite, until someone showed him a little-but-genuine politeness, by saying a simple thank you.
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