Legal Literacy - Wednesday in Jakarta is a kind of “halfway†level that God deliberately installed to test the patience of mankind. Not Monday, which we can still deceive with false enthusiasm, not Friday, which we can court with the hope of the weekend. Wednesday is the day when energy is only half left, the wallet begins to thin out because of excessive “self reward†snacks, and deadlines pile up as high as the guilt towards oneself.
And as usual, the universe feels our lives are still too easy.
That morning, the most annoying type of rain fell: a persistent drizzleIt's not a heavy rain that forces us to take shelter and surrender. It's a rain that comes subtly, politely, but its wickedness is gradual. It doesn't beat down, it seeps in. After standing on the side of the road for ten minutes waiting for a ride, we realize: "Oh, so this isn't just a drizzle. This is a method of torture."
In a half-wet condition—shirt sticking, jacket cold, life getting harder—ride-hailing apps become a kind of prayer that can be ordered via cellphone. My thumb dances. I hope to get a driver with a matic motorcycle whose seat is wide, soft, and preferably has the aura of a "walking sofa."
Of course, that hope is arrogance.
From a distance comes the sound of an exhaust that is more than just a sound: it's a declaration of war. A sport motorcycle approaches, its roar breaking the concentration of people in the entire sub-district. As soon as it stops right in front of me, I do a quick scan from front to back, then my will to live collapses elegantly.
The motorcycle is dashing, yes. Fierce, yes. But for passengers, the motorcycle is a test of courage ride.
The back seat is tilted like a poorly calculated kindergarten slide. The fender is completely cut off for the sake of the "wasp tail" style, meaning splashes of water and street sand will have VIP access to my back. And the sin that I feel most personally: the rear handle is missing.
The iron handle is gone. Plain. Slippery. Pointed. As if the motorcycle is saying, "Please get on, Sir. Let's see your faith."
The driver greets from behind his helmet, confirming the order. I swallow. In my head, there is a great urge to cancel—not because I don't appreciate the driver's hard work—but because I also appreciate my own tailbone.
But office hours never care about passenger trauma. Today's lateness could lead to a cold HR gaze that exceeds the lobby's AC. So I get on. Slowly. Resignedly. With full awareness that this journey will test my physical, mental, and social honor.
Three Modification Sins That Are Safe for Style, But Not Safe for Passengers
I understand, for many people, a motorcycle is an identity. A canvas. A medium of expression. There is a "clean look" stream that considers accessories to be an aesthetic sin. Mirrors are reduced in size, fenders are discarded, handles are removed so that the motorcycle tail looks pointed and "racing."
I'm not arguing that.
What I'm questioning is just one thing: why is that style brought when the driver is carrying paying passengers?
Because in my experience, there are three modification sins that, when used to drive a ride-hailing motorcycle—especially when it's raining—it's no longer a matter of taste, but a matter of safety:
- Handle removed.
This is not an accessory. It is a passenger survival tool. - The fender is trimmed.
This is not about “tidying upâ€. It turns the passenger's back into a canvas of street mud. - The rear seat is narrow and slippery.
In wet conditions, the seat transforms into a slide.
The problem is, I've already sat on top of that combination of three sins.
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