I don't get road rage

At least in part because I don't (and can't) drive. If I have to get places and my parents can't drive me, I pretty much have to walk. This means I walked to and from school every day for the last seven years, whatever the weather, done the two-mile walk to and from the centre of town, walked to and from friends houses in four-inch heels. I've dealt with everything the English weather throws at us, roadworks, speeding... and the one thing that still gets me really, really angry - is other pedestrians.
So I don't get road rage, I get pavement rage. Other pedestrians are often spectacularly unaware of the people around them - I was stuck behind a couple of girls the whole way down the alley between the road my school is on and the road my house is on, because they wanted to talk about how they'd rather do something other than go and get stoned in the park because it was raining on Friday.
Who dawdles on the way home from school?! Admittedly these two were year nine or tens (13-15 years old) so they hadn't had the same sort of week I had (your A-levels are coming up! you're all woefully underprepared! You can't structure an essay to save your life!) but there is still no reason to force someone who just wants to get home to listen to your inane conversation.

There are other habits of my fellows in pavement use that piss me off. Stopping, in the middle of the street with no warning or, in fact, purpose. Walking veeerrrryyy ssslllllooooowwwllllyyyy, right in front of me and zig-zagging across the path so I can't overtake you. Also, that perennial non-favourite of mine, cutting me up and complaining when I trip over you because I can't bloody see you shortarse! - that one especially for the lower school who don't realise that you should get out of the way of the damn great sixth-formers because they're bigger and more important than you.
Ahem.