Hi, I'm Dean, two-time robbery victim.

Earlier this week, Plato, my iPad 2, was stolen from me while I was on my way down from the bus. The perpetrators used a pretty well-documented method: when I got up to leave, they crammed into the aisle of the bus near the exit and caused a commotion, squeezing me and my bag (which I had been wearing on my front). They used this as an opportunity to surreptitiously open my backpack and grab the iPad. Thankfully they either didn't bother, forgot, or failed to take my phone, money clip and card case, which were in the bag, too.

I'd like to think I handled the incident pretty well. I even had time to buy food on the way home; when I arrived I quickly called the LTFRB hotline, but no one was picking up. I guess they have different ideas about what the word "hotline" means. I tried the MMDA number, and although it only took me one voice prompt before I was connected to a live human being, the man on the other line said they didn't have the contact details of city bus operators. He suggested I try the LTFRB (I told him I already did) or the DOTC (their numbers weren't working, either).

Deep inside, though, I was feeling really annoyed at myself. For one, there's that inherent feeling of stupidity after you realize that someone managed to take away a big slab of glass and metal from your backpack, which you were wearing on the front.

For another, this isn't the first time Manila's petty criminals have victimized me. As a freshman two years ago, I got talked into coming with three total strangers and giving them my phone and my wallet. They approached me in SM North Edsa's The Block and started telling me about their niece, who they said was harassed by a group of young men at the mall that day and ended up having her phone and wallet taken from her.

They told me I kind of fit the description their niece had given them. Obviously this was their little ploy to intimidate me into going with them. It worked. I denied that I was the one they were looking for, and they made like they were cautiously believing me. They asked if I could come with them to Security to see if I recognized any of the mug shots they had on file.

Now, in hindsight I know I shouldn't have come and that I should have asserted my right not to go with them, so there's no need to call me stupid. In the heat of the moment, though, and being the good guy that I like to think I am, I agreed to come with them, thinking we wouldn't have to go any further than the mall's security office. They introduced me to another person whom they said they had spoken to and who had also agreed to help identify the suspects.

They ended up bringing me to the barangay hall of the community at the back of SM North, saying I would be interviewed by the captain, who just happened to be their aunt. It was at this point that they told me and my would-be fellow identifier that the barangay captain would interrogate us individually, and that we should be careful what we say because she can be a mean woman.

And then came the pitch: the other witness and I had to hand our phones and wallets over to them, or else the barangay captain would frisk us, find them on our persons, and think we stole the money and the phone. The other guy was going first, they explained to me, so he was going to give me his wallet and phone. So he did. Then they asked him if he trusted me with his stuff. He said yes, and one of the guys ostensibly took him to be interrogated while the other stayed with me.

They came back a few minutes later and it was my turn. By now all my senses were tingling and my internals were panicking. When they asked for my phone and wallet I said I didn't feel comfortable surrendering my valuables to total strangers. At this point the fat one among them started yelling invectives in yet another successful attempt to scare the freshman version of Dean Lozarie, who had yet to spend seven months in unforgiving Manila. He managed the wallet out of me, but not the phone—yet. When I said I really didn't feel comfortable, he said "fine," took my phone, and said he'd go into a nearby Internet cafe and leave it with the people there if I didn't trust him.

Then Fatty took me to a desolate corner of the village and told me to wait there while he fetched the captain. I must have waited a good five minutes before my mind told me to give up hope and start running for help.

When I retell this story I always feel like a stupid ass who handed his phone over to strangers, and after that experience I was sure Manila wouldn't get the better of me again. Apparently this city still has a lot to teach me.