Near the front, right beside the tap-in machine, someone usually sits closest. Without being asked, that person takes on an unspoken role.
As passengers get on, they pass their cards forward. One by one, the cards reach the person near the machine. Tap. Beep. Tap. Beep. The mikrotrans moves again, smoothly.
“It’s just easier this way,” said Rina, a daily commuter who uses JakLingko to get to work. “The space is small. If everyone taps their own card, it gets chaotic.”
This quiet cooperation has become an unwritten culture inside JakLingko mikrotrans. Unlike large buses, these angkot-style vehicles operate on short routes through dense neighborhoods. The limited space makes individual tapping difficult, especially during rush hours.
No one questions the system. No one hesitates to hand over their card.
“We trust each other,” said Andi, another passenger. “We’re all going the same way. Why make it complicated?”
When the destination approaches, the process repeats. Cards are passed forward again for tap-out, then returned to their owners without confusion.
In a city often associated with hurry and frustration, these small gestures tell a different story. Among strangers squeezed into a moving vehicle, cooperation quietly replaces inconvenience.
“There’s no rule saying we have to do this,” Rina added with a smile. “It just feels normal.”
And when one passenger gets off, another takes their place near the machine, silently inheriting the role until the next stop.
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