Legal Literacy - Wednesday in Jakarta is like a 'halfway' level that God deliberately set to test the patience of mankind. Not Monday, which we can still lie to 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 starts 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, the most annoying type of rain fell: a persistent drizzle. Not a heavy rain that forces us to take shelter and surrender. This is a rain that comes gently, politely, but is slowly evil. It doesn't beat, it seeps. After standing on the side of the road for ten minutes waiting for a ride, we realize: 'Oh, this isn't a drizzle. This is a method of torture.'
In a half-wet condition—shirt sticky, jacket cold, life getting harder—the online motorcycle taxi application becomes a kind of prayer that can be ordered via cellphone. My thumb danced. I hope to get a driver with a matic motorbike whose seat is wide, soft, and if possible has a 'walking sofa' aura.
Of course, that hope is arrogance.
From a distance, the sound of an exhaust that is not just a sound appears: it's a declaration of war. A sports motorbike approaches, 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 zest for life collapsed elegantly.
The motorbike is dashing, yes. Fierce, 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 '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 disappeared. Plain. Slippery. Pointed. 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 driver's hard work—but because I also appreciate my own tailbone.
However, office hours never care about passenger trauma. Today's lateness could lead to a cold HR stare that exceeds the lobby's AC. So I got on. Slowly. Resigned. With full awareness that this journey will test physical, mental, and social honor.
Three Safe Modification Sins for Style, But Not Safe for Passengers
I understand, for many people, a motorbike is an identity. Canvas. Media of expression. There is a 'clean look' flow that considers accessories an aesthetic sin. The rearview mirror is reduced in size, the fender is thrown away, the handle is removed so that the tail of the motorbike looks pointed and 'racing'.
I am not disputing that.
What I question is only one thing: why is that style brought when you are transporting paying passengers?
Because in my experience, there are three sins of modification that, when used to pick up motorcycle taxi passengers—especially in the rain—it's no longer a matter of taste, but a matter of safety:
- The grab bar is removed.
This is not an accessory. This is a passenger's survival tool. - The fender is trimmed.
This is not 'tidying up'. This turns the passenger's back into a canvas for road mud. - The rear seat is narrow and slippery.
In wet conditions, the seat transforms into a slide.
The problem is, I had already sat on top of the combination of those three sins.
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