My Experiences Being Robbed
Preface
I once mentioned on social media about being robbed while at a conference in the US. Lots of people were interested and asked for details — I guess that’s not an everyday experience. A friend suggested I write about it. So here goes. For fairness, I’ll include a few other times I was robbed or scammed. As always, there are good and bad people everywhere, but the proportion of bad ones varies. Stay safe out there. In chronological order.
China
I could write about getting my game coins stolen by thugs at an arcade as a kid, but that’s not very interesting. Let me write about something that happened during my undergrad internship. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t robbery — I was scammed. I was interning at Microsoft in Xujiahui during the summer of 2003 (between junior and senior year). Every day I’d take the bus from Tongji West Campus to the train station, then the metro to Xujiahui.
One day I got on the metro and a guy in a suit with slicked-back hair, carrying a leather briefcase, sat next to me. He said, “I’ve fallen on hard times. I’m a Beijing ministry official (he spoke quietly, looking embarrassed, so I didn’t catch which ministry) here on business. My wallet was stolen right after I got off the train. I can’t do anything now. Could you spare some money so I can take care of things? I’ll repay you when I get back to Beijing.”
It sounds like the classic “I’m the Emperor, send money” scam, but I was young and naive. He didn’t look like a fraudster, and I figured Beijing officials serving the people deserved sympathy. I gave him a few dozen yuan — I was a broke student myself. He asked for my phone number to repay me, but I didn’t have a mobile phone anyway, so I never found out if there was follow-up.
How did I figure out he was a fraud? I took the metro every day and kept running into him. He was there every day with different sob stories — sometimes his wallet was stolen, sometimes his phone, sometimes both. I mentioned it to a professor, who said, “You got off easy — at least he was civil. If he’d been physical, he’d have grabbed your leg and wouldn’t let go.” (Shanghai metro used to have quite a few beggars who’d physically cling to you for money. It’s much better now.)
Looking back, the scam had so many red flags. I was too young and naive. A Beijing official on business in Shanghai, traveling by train? (Those were the days before fancy CRH trains.) And even if he’d been robbed, one call to his Shanghai contacts would’ve had a parade of people rushing to help.
USA
This is the one everyone wants to hear about. It was 2016, before Trump, during the中美 honeymoon period. We were issuing 10-year visas then — mine’s valid until 2026. Who knows if I can still use it now. I was in Philadelphia, America’s founding capital, for an academic conference. The conference itself was boring, so let’s skip to the last day.
Everyone knows America has a tipping culture — tip for everything. (I personally hate tipping culture; it feels like moral blackmail. Thankfully China and New Zealand don’t have it.) By the last day of the conference, I’d spent most of my cash. That evening I went to the hotel restaurant — meals were included, so I only needed my room key. I emptied my wallet, leaving maybe a few dozen dollars on the bed, and went to eat unencumbered.
When I came back, the room had been cleaned. And the money on my bed was gone. I instantly understood — the cleaner had taken it as a tip and accepted gratefully. I couldn’t bring myself to ask for it back. As a Chinese person abroad, I had to maintain face. Asking for it back would make Chinese people look cheap. Anyway, I had an early morning flight and didn’t need cash anymore. Consider it their tip.
The next morning I got up before dawn to catch my flight. Philadelphia, being a major city and former capital, has a metro that starts early and goes straight to the airport. I dragged my suitcase into the subway.
Going down the steps, I was shocked. The station was full of homeless people lying everywhere (I won’t mention their skin color to avoid being politically incorrect). Big guys, all giving me menacing looks. No one else around. I decided this place wasn’t safe and hurried to the platform.
Philadelphia’s subway runs on the honor system — no ticket needed to board (normally you buy a ticket, but it was so early the booth was closed, with a sign saying board without paying). While waiting, a guy followed me onto the platform and started chatting. He said something like: “It’s my birthday today but I’m not happy because I have no money to eat. Can you spare some change for a meal?”
I didn’t want to give him anything, and I had no money anyway. So I pretended not to understand English. He initially believed me and patiently explained, using gestures — money, McDonald’s, that sort of thing. I kept playing dumb, waiting for him to give up. But his patience ran out. Seeing that I wouldn’t cooperate nicely, he put his hand in his pocket and said: “I have a gun in my pocket. It’s my birthday, I want a good meal…”
I was terrified. I know Americans are tough. If this were China or New Zealand, I’d have said “You don’t have a gun, who are you trying to scare?” But in the US, I wasn’t about to test that. I didn’t know if he really had a gun, and I didn’t want to find out.
I couldn’t keep pretending, and I genuinely had no US dollars — the hotel staff had taken them all as a “tip.” I pulled out my wallet and showed him: “Hey bro, I’m broke. Just two 100 RMB notes. Can’t spend those here.” He said no problem, he could exchange them at a bank. He probably didn’t know the exchange rate — one 100 RMB note is about a dozen US dollars, barely enough for McDonald’s.
I made one last attempt: “You should leave me one. One 100 RMB note is enough. Otherwise I can’t get home to China.” He was surprisingly reasonable — took one 100 RMB note and left. I don’t know if he actually had a gun or really needed food. But I was scared shitless.
When the train came, I jumped on and got out of there. Flew back to China. That was my last trip to the US.
New Zealand
Let me add New Zealand. It was 2017, shortly after I arrived, around March. I was the “three-nothing” man: no job, no driver’s license, no permanent home. My family was crammed into a small garage. Like most new immigrants, the first thing to do was get a driver’s license. Chinese road rules are quite different from New Zealand’s — driving on opposite sides. Luckily, Qian’s mom was an experienced driver who’d been driving in NZ for a year. I asked her to practice with me whenever she had time. We’d just drive around randomly, getting familiar with the rules, and she’d point out my mistakes.
One day we ended up near a shopping mall around lunchtime. We parked and looked for food. There’s a pizza chain in NZ called “Hell Pizza” — their pizzas are named after demons and the seven deadly sins. We ordered takeaway and found a spot nearby to eat.
A young Pacific Islander walked up and asked for money, saying he hadn’t eaten in a while. I didn’t want to give him anything and told him I had no cash (though I probably had some in my wallet). He then said, “I know where the ATM is, I can take you there.” Qian’s mom was terrified — visions of someone getting knocked out while withdrawing cash flashed through her mind. She said, “Just give him something, or he won’t let us go.”
I didn’t want to, but seeing how stressed she was, I wanted to protect my family. I opened my wallet — smallest bill was $50 NZD. A significant amount. I gave it to him and watched him walk away.
Looking back, this wasn’t really robbery. He was thin and didn’t threaten us. Just begging. Even if we’d refused, there was no real danger. But I’d just arrived in NZ and didn’t know the situation. I was afraid of another US incident. And Qian’s mom was nervous — I didn’t want to worry her. So I paid up.
Ever since, Qian’s mom has associated Hell Pizza with that experience. Every time she sees a Hell Pizza ad, she remembers. She won’t let me buy it anymore. Once Hell Pizza gave us a free voucher, and she wouldn’t even let me pick it up. She thinks Hell Pizza is unlucky, that it brought us financial loss.
Afterword
I wanted to write more about New Zealand, but this is getting long. Maybe next time. Copilot was enabled while writing this — AI storytelling is incredibly powerful. I had to stop several times to read the stories it generated. Some were pretty entertaining.
