The place I live in Shanghai is sort of like a townhouse in a gated community. Most of my neighbors (whom I have never had the motivation to go meet) are mostly expatriates from Taiwan, Korea, and countries that manufacture white people. There are some scattered locals here and there, and most of them are families and not aspiring gigolos like myself. Because of the large number of kids who go to American or foreign schools, the neighborhood management like to bring a taste of the West into the complex during holidays. Since Halloween is nearly upon us, there now sits some ghastly decoration in the courtyard near the front gate. It’s been there a few days now, and I have gotten quite used to it (since I’m usually passed out when I cab in at night), that I was quite surprised when the drived let out a miniature yelp as he pulled into the gate.


Boo Hu

Driver: Why would they put such a scary face right here? Don’t you know how scary that is in the dark?
Me (looking around): Oh, you mean that pumpkin face right there?
Driver: Yes, it’s so scary. Why would the put such a horrible thing up for everyone to see? Do you live here?
Me: Yup.
Driver: Well, as a resident, you have a right to complain to the management. You can tell them to take it down.
Me: Oh, I think it’s for Halloween. You know, when people celebrate ghosts and stuff.
Driver: But think of the children.
Me: I think this is for the children.
Driver (muttering): Scared the shit out of me

Then it dawned on me that Shanghai taxi drivers are people too, not just hideous drivers who are programmed to take the long route and are required to roll down the window and hawk magnificent shiny loogeys and who have odious dental hygiene. They’re people with real feelings and real fears, and perhaps I should stop kicking their trunks when they cut me off and respect their personal, taxi-driver space.

I got out of the cab, walked around to the driver side, and reached through the window and gave my driver a huge, comforting hug. “There there, my child,” I whispered to him as I patted his head and massaged his shoulders, “It’s just an ugly face made from paper and cardboard and lights.” Then I kissed him on the forehead and headed inside, feeling pretty darn good about myself. That lasted for a good three seconds as I heard him hawking a massive ball of phlegm onto outside of my house. I hope that Great Pumpkin at the gate of my complex haunts him forever.