The air is laced with cigarette smoke and Cantonese profanities as half a dozen taxi drivers hang out by their fire-engine-red cabs on a quiet corner of the gritty Prince Edward neighborhood of Hong Kong.

It is the afternoon handover, when day shift drivers pass their taxis to those working the night shift. They are surrendering wads of cash to a taxi agent, a matriarchal figure who collects rent for the vehicles, manages their schedules and dispenses unsolicited advice about exercising more and quitting smoking. The drivers wave her off.

There may be no harder task in this city of more than seven million than trying to change a taxi driver’s habits. Often grumpy and rushing to the next fare, cabbies in Hong Kong have been doing things their way for decades, reflecting the fast-paced, frenetic culture that has long energized the city.

But taxi drivers are under pressure to get with the times. Their passengers are fed up with being driven recklessly, treated curtly and, in many cases, having to settle fares with cash — one of the strangest idiosyncrasies about life in Hong Kong. The practice is so ingrained that airport staff often have to alert tourists at taxi ranks that they need to carry bills.

The government, both because of the complaints and to revitalize tourism, has tried to rein in taxi drivers. Officials ran a campaign over the summer urging drivers to be more polite. They imposed a point system in which bad behavior by drivers — such as overcharging or refusing passengers — would be tracked and could result in the loss of licenses.

In early December, the government proposed requiring all taxis to install systems to allow them to accept credit cards and digital payments by the end of 2025, and to add surveillance cameras by the end of 2026.

Predictably, many taxi drivers have opposed the idea of closer supervision.

“Would you want to be monitored all the time?” said Lau Bing-kwan, a 75-year-old cabby with thinning strands of white hair who accepts only cash. “The government is barking too many orders.”

Hold On to Your Seats

The new controls, if put in place, would signal the end of an era for an industry that has long been an anomaly in Hong Kong’s world-class transportation system. Every day, millions of people commute safely on sleek subways and air-conditioned double-decker buses that run reliably.

Riding in a taxi, by comparison, can be an adventure. Step into one of Hong Kong’s signature four-door Toyota Crown Comfort cabs and you will most likely be (what is the opposite of greeted?) by a man in his 60s or older with a phalanx of cellphones mounted along his dashboard — used sometimes for GPS navigation and other times to track horse racing results. Pleasantries will not be exchanged. Expect the gas pedal to be floored.

You will then reflexively grab a handle and try not to slide off the midnight-blue vinyl seats as you zip and turn through the city’s notoriously narrow streets. Lastly, before you arrive at your destination, you will ready your small bills and coins to avoid aggravating the driver with a time-consuming exit.

“When they drop you off, you have to kind of rush,” said Sylvia He, a professor of urban studies at the Chinese University of Hong Kong who, like many residents of this city, feels conditioned to walk on eggshells around a cabby. “I don’t want to delay their next order.”

To many cabbies, the impatience and brusqueness is a reflection of their harsh reality: when scraping by in a business with shrinking financial rewards, no time can be wasted on social niceties. Lau Man-hung, a 63-year-old driver, for instance, skips meals and bathroom breaks just to stay behind the wheel long enough to take home about $2,500 a month, barely enough to get by in one of the most expensive cities in the world.

“Some customers are too mafan,” said Mr. Lau using a Cantonese word that means causing trouble and annoyance. “They like to complain about which route to take. They tell you to go faster.”

An Industry’s Fragile Economics

Driving a cab used to be a decent way to make a living. But business has gotten tougher, made worse by the fallout of mainland China’s economic slowdown. The city has had trouble reviving its allure with tourists, while its bars and nightclubs, once teeming with crowds squeezed into narrow alleyways, now draw fewer revelers.

Even before the downturn, some owners of taxi licenses were struggling. Taxi licenses are limited by the government and traded on a loosely regulated market. Some owners suffered huge losses after a speculative bubble drove prices up to nearly $1 million for one license a decade ago, then burst.

Today, licenses are worth about two-thirds of their decade-ago high. Many businesses and drivers who own licenses are focused more on recouping losses than on improving service.

Tin Shing Motors, a family-owned company, manages drivers and sells taxi license mortgages and taxicab insurance. Chris Chan, a 47-year-old third-generation member of the company, says Tin Shing is saddled with mortgages bought when licenses were worth much more.

To chip away at that debt, Mr. Chan needs to rent out his taxis as much as possible. But he struggles to find drivers. Many cabbies have aged out, and young people have largely stayed away from the grueling work. Profit margins have dwindled, he added, especially with the cost of insurance almost doubling in recent years. Uber, despite operating in a gray area in Hong Kong, has also taken a chunk of customers away.

“It’s harder and harder to make money,” Mr. Chan said.

At the bottom are the drivers, about half of whom are 60 and older. Many cannot afford to retire. They have to make about $14 an hour to break even after paying for gas and the rent of their vehicles. To them, cash in hand is better than waiting days for electronic payments to clear.

A Blue-Collar Job Professionalizes

Tension between the public and taxi drivers plays out with mutual finger pointing. When the government introduced the courtesy campaign last year, a driver told a television reporter that it was the passengers who were rude.

In many ways, Hong Kong’s taxi drivers embody the high-stress, no-frills culture of the city’s working class. Their gruffness is no different from the service one gets at a cha chaan teng, the ubiquitous local cafes that fuel the masses with egg sandwiches, instant noodles and saccharine-sweet milk tea. Servers are curt, but fast.

“People tend to have one bad experience and remember it for the rest of their life,” said Hung Wing-tat, a retired professor who has studied the taxi industry. “Consequently, there is an impression among the public that all taxi drivers are bad when most of them just want to earn a living. They don’t want any trouble.”

Indeed, there are cabbies like Joe Fong, 45, who sees no value in antagonizing his customers and has tried to adapt to his passengers’ needs.

“Why fight?” Mr. Fong said. “We need each other. You need a ride and I need your money.”

Mr. Fong maximizes his income by splitting his time between driving a private car for Uber and a cab for a taxi fleet called Alliance. Mr. Fong has five cellphones affixed to his dashboard. He welcomes electronic payments, and he did not raise an eyebrow when Alliance installed cameras in all their taxis last year.

“I’m not like those old guys,” said Mr. Fong, who drives one of Hong Kong’s newer hybrid taxis made by Toyota, which look like a cross between a London cab and a PT Cruiser. “The world has changed. You have to accept it.”

Olivia Wang contributed reporting.