Jesus. Take the Wheel.

I live in Hong Kong.
Ever since I arrived here I have heard the complaint "you never see the disabled in Central Hong Kong"
How would they cope with the traffic/lack of facilities/pace/number of stairs....etc etc etc
And I agree.
In the days when I had children young enough to require strollers, the place was a nightmare.
Luckily I was young enough at the time to consider the heavy lifting an exercise asset rather than the joint crushing, disc popping, medical hazard it would be today.
If I was in charge of a toddler today it would require wheels on it's clothes and would need be comfortable with being dragged a lot of places.
Like up and down stairs.
Literally.
So, good physical health is a practical bonus in Hong Kong.
But what about mental health?
One could just as easily say " You never see the mentally unwell in Central Hong Kong"
But this is not true.
After more than a decade I have come to realise that the HK SAR has cleverly Incorporated those suffering from every kind of mental affliction known to modern medicine by granting them gainful employment in the least likely of professions.
They are the taxi drivers.
Hong Kong has over 18,000 taxis on the streets on any given day.
They are reasonably priced, air conditioned, and are driven by a variety of individuals that fall everywhere on the mental health spectrum from ' what a great person ' to 'Oh My God I am going to FUCKING DIE in this mans car', and all the stages in between.
We all have our favourite 'I survived' story.
I once sat in the taxi of a hoarder....and how did I know?
Because apart from the actual back seat, the rest of the area- including all the front seats, the area in front of the back window and underneath his feet was piled high- and I mean piled high- with newspapers, bags of things and boxes.
I actually encountered this man twice.
The first time I got in I kept looking for the hidden camera.
The second time I waved him away.
I struggle with a 'neatness fetish' as it is, the last thing I need is a near nervous collapse in the back seat of a fast moving vehicle with a man who collects McDonald's wrappers 'just in case he needs them'.
Most people living here are used to cramped conditions, so I shouldn't have been surprised when I sat in the back of a cab where the driver had turned the whole front dash into a Chinese Garden, replete with several tiny Bonsai trees and living goldfish in a cup sized tank (with filter) all hanging impressively via wire construction woven through his air-conditioning.
And of course, we have all met the part-time-taxi-slash-part-time-Formula-One speed demon.
He is almost ALWAYS accompanied by a Buddha or two in the front seat.
That's great for HIM, HE has a God on his side.
For an Atheist such as myself, all I can do is sit there and hope that whatever we hit contains either marshmallow or firecrackers.
If I'm injured, I feel I would want sugar whilst waiting for my blood to all leak out.
If I die, let it be with a bang.
A death wish in a cabbie I get, remember I suspect most of these people are either on or avoiding medication anyway, but the most genuinely terrifying taxi journey I have ever taken lasted all of 2 minutes and ended in a bingle at an eight lane intersection and the words 'run, he's crazy'.
It started innocently enough.
I was in Kowloon City, and I needed to get to Prince Edward.
For those of you outside the region, this is not a long distance, but it was hot, I wasn't going to walk it, and taxis are cheap.
Waved hand.
Cab stops.
I pop in and announce my required destination "Tai Chi m'goi" and settle back putting on my seat belt.
However else I go, it won't be like Diana.
R.I.P.
Within an instant I knew I was in trouble.
I could fill a book with the number of people I have met who chatter away to themselves whilst driving.
Cabbies are all about mumbling shitfully useless information about the state of the roads, the Government and the fact that their wives are fat and lazy and spend all his money on majong and are never up for sex.
Funny how the first words you really remember in a foreign language are always the ones you can't use in polite company.
But this was not what was happening in THIS taxi...oh no.
My rake thin, wild eyed, human sweat factory was gone, gone gone.
It COULD have been planet Methamphetamine, it was most DEFINITELY planet fully blown psychosis.
He was angry.
FUCKING ANGRY.
And he was telling whomever it was sitting between him and the driving wheel EXACTLY what he was going to do about it.
We lurched from the curb from zero to 60 in about 10 seconds, and whilst he shouted at Mr Invisible, he also managed to change lanes in between every second car, across, across, across again.
My mind went blank.
The Cantonese words for 'take care' are 'Sui Sarm', but they would not come out, I was too busy thinking how to exit the taxi prior to my very obvious imminent deceasement.
As if he could read my mind, he turned and looked at me and shouted " it's Ok, it's OK" and then proceeded to swing wildly in and out of the flow of traffic.
My heart was pounding.
I saw the accident before we actually hit the other car.
It was not terribly fast, but my door was buckled and jammed. Thankfully, I was unhurt.
The driver leapt out, locked the doors and started pounding on the other vehicle.
The other driver looked on with absolute horror as Mr What-The-Fuck went bat shit crazy at every single car now caught up in our 8 lane intersection.
Shouting and beating cars, fighting demons that only he could see.
I kept thinking about all that I had heard about the super human strength of people who are out of their gourd.
I kept thinking this minor accident was a lucky escape.
A woman rushed over to see if I was OK, I unlocked the other door and climbed out.
She grabbed my hand and said, "Run, he's crazy".
Now, I don't think this wonderful lady was a medical professional, but I am going to go with her diagnosis.
Should this man be driving a taxi?
I think no.
It's not indicative of all of the madness on the roads, but it did happen and it serves as a warning.
Normally I am right at home with all forms of ' interesting personality types'.
The term 'mad as a cut snake' is a term of endearment in my World.
Wacky, zany, fruity, odd, nutty-all these are attributes in the creative Universe I choose to inhabit.
Like the taxi driver who sang to me for 20 minutes and then showed me the CD of karaoke hits he had recorded (and,yes, I bought one, I always support The Arts) most people touched by the blunt end of the loony stick are harmless enough.
Sometimes they are even gifted and delightfully entertaining.
And perhaps having them as the nations chauffeurs is not such a bad idea.
A new customer every 15 minutes will keep the Schizophrenics and Multiple Personality Types entertained, the Depressed will have someone to complain to, the Narcissists have plenty of mirrors, the Delusional can be flying aeroplanes or riding Dragons whilst seemingly getting you from point A. to point B. in a car.
Even the Agoraphobics are technically inside.
I think it works.
Of course not for the Münchausen by proxy's- one of the more bizarre of the mental health challenges- but then I am sure they will find a way.
They tend to be clever.
Gainful employment is the way forward for the 'emotionally disordered'.
The deranged, the disturbed and the deviated-they deserve to earn a dollar too.
And they can't ALL be actors.