Legal Literacy "- Wednesday in Jakarta is like a " tanggung" level that God deliberately installed to test the patience of mankind. Not Monday, which we can still lie to with fake enthusiasm, not Friday, which we can date with the hope of the weekend. Wednesday is the day when energy is only half left, wallets start to thin because of excessive "self reward" snacks, and deadlines pile up as high as guilt towards oneself."

And as usual, the universe feels our lives are still too easy.

That morning it rained the most annoying type: drizzle that lasts. Not a heavy rain that forces us to take shelter and surrender. This is a rain that comes subtly, politely, but slowly evilly. It doesn't beat, it seeps. Ten minutes standing on the side of the road waiting for a ride, we realize: "Oh, it turns out this isn't a drizzle. This is a method of torture."

In a tanggung wet condition—a sticky shirt, a cold jacket, life is getting harder—the ojol application becomes a kind of prayer that can be ordered via cellphone. My thumb dances. I hope to get a driver with a matic motorbike whose seat is wide, soft, and if possible has an "walking sofa" aura.

Of course that hope is arrogance.

From a distance came the sound of an exhaust that was not just a sound: it was a declaration of war. A sports motorbike approached, its roar breaking the concentration of people in the sub-district. As soon as it stopped right in front of me, I did a quick scan from front to back, then my life spirit collapsed elegantly.

The motorbike is cool, yes. Scary, yes. But for passengers, the motorbike is a test of courage ride.

The back seat is tilted like a miscalculated kindergarten slide. The fender is completely cut off for the sake of the "wasp tail" style, meaning splashes of water and road sand will have VIP access to my back. And the sin that I feel most personally: the back handle is gone.

The iron handle disappeared. Plain. Slippery. Pointy. As if the motorbike was saying, "Please get on, Sir. Let's see your faith."

The driver greeted from behind his helmet, confirming the order. I swallowed. In my head there is a great urge to cancel—not because I don't appreciate the brother's hard work—but because I also appreciate my own tailbone.