I was in the car when my usually smooth driver abruptly stopped. In front of us were four ruffians jumping onto a momentarily parked jeepney and, just as quickly, out of it, except for one of them. Half-out, this one was holding on to something an old man wouldn’t let go of—a purse, sort of.
Now all of them out on the road, including their would-be prey, they were ganging up on him, but he clung on to his precious possession. Eventually, apparently discouraged by the collecting crowd, they gave up and scampered away, leaving the old man frazzled but none the poorer.
It inspired a vision of a pack of juvenile gypsies creating a distraction while one of them picks some tourist’s pocket in some bus or train station in Spain.
My driver didn’t seem surprised; he told me those incidents aren’t really rare.
Another day I gasped at the sight of female taong grasa board a bus. She was covered in soot, her hair like an old mop; I could almost smell her. My driver laughed and told me this was every commuter’s nightmare. It’s happened to him a few times.
“Masusuka kayo sa amoy, Ma’am!” he said, making a face to simulate his nausea.
Only in the Philippines
He proceeded to explain the imaginative way conductors deal with this only-in-the-Philippines road hazard: The undesirable passenger is paid to get off, much to everybody’s relief. It’s easy to fool the likes of her, anyway, because they can’t read or count, generally. The conductor finds out for sure quickly enough; after handing over a couple of P20 bills and announcing to her they add up to P120, he gets a giveaway reply: “Sigurado ka?”
The more numerate ones have another gimmick. They burst into song in the most grating fashion and don’t stop until they have the proper amount in their filthy hands. Some passengers are tempted to contribute just to get rid of them, yielding to both blackmail and alms-giving.
Pickpockets are easier to handle, if I can believe my driver. Experienced commuters like him, he said, have learned to spot them. They never board alone—they strike in threes at least, he said.
But, he went on, since they tend to ply the same route, they become recognizable, and, once passengers are alerted, they frustrate their plan. For, if caught, they are mobbed and beaten up and turned over to the police. Some are beaten so badly their mug shots don’t look anything like them anymore.
My driver, a huge guy, says teamwork set in motion at a signal among male passengers has ruined many a pickpocket’s plan. Mercifully, ordinary pickpockets don’t come armed, he said, confessing he is not one to risk ending up a dead hero.
Pickpockets have been around a long time. Two sons of ours were victimized during their commute to school, one in the 1970s, another years later, both losing their wallets.
We who rarely use public transport may not realize the hazards of the daily commute. I myself didn’t until enlightened by our driver. An alternative is the commuter trains. Not only faster and cheaper, they give pickpockets no chance at jumping out to escape. But, until they begin functioning again, arriving to school or work on time itself is nothing short of a daily miracle.
Graver
In America, people are generally assured of arriving on time; the problem arises once one arrives, whether the destination is a synagogue, a classroom, a nightclub, or whatever. The problem is definitely graver than one’s pocket being picked. The problem is getting killed at random by some insane attacker, which happens nearly every day.
If it’s any consolation the culprit is immediately caught and brought to justice. Alas, precious lives have been unnecessarily, irretrievably lost.
Maybe that’s why Japan has become a favorite destination. It’s an incredibly safe place, when the rest of the world has become untrustworthy.
At first glance our own problems may appear easier to cope with, but at the core of all our problems is poverty, and it’s proven causes are chiefly corruption and inefficiency in government. We’ve been wrestling with the two giant problems all our lives. We manage to cope all right, and, maybe that’s our problem: We’d rather cope than do something to correct it.