The teenage boy/girl who just graduated high-school and got a shiny car as a graduation present is the greatest threat to me. Two days after receiving said cage, they report to fall quarter at the college I attend. En masse. Never you mind their speed varying 7mph either side of the limit, because holding a consistent velocity is beyond their meager skill. Ignore, if you can, their infuriating habit of waiting until they're right on top of the stop line before smashing the brake pedal. Please avoid looking for a turn signal; you won't find one blinking half the time. Pedestrians? No, no; their HS driving instructor (or mom) told 'em that cars have a right-of-way. Parking technique is most unusual, and consists of lining up the space with their door handle. At which point, they throw it into reverse and try making a quick reverse-to-drive-hardright! combo move. Straight into the passenger door of the vehicle parked in the next space. Provided, that is, they haven't brought their two-ton cage to a halt in a hash-marked parking area. Ya know, the zones with "Motorcycle Parking Only" in yellow letters two feet high on all sides? And whatever you do, avert your gaze from the interior of their cage. Lest you attend the cell-phone welded to one ear. The make-up brush clutched in hand. Or worse still, the nervous-squirrel stare upon their childish mugs, as they frightfully text away between brief and fitful glances of watching traffic. Fight all that for the "convenience" of parking within four blocks of the building I need? Uhh no. I'll hop public transit, thanks. At least until the riot becomes a mere circus.