The unspoken contractual agreement drivers sign with jaywalkers the second they step onto the road goes like this: I, the "Driver," hereby allow you, the "Jaywalker," to cross the street illegally, in front of my two-ton death machine without fear of harm under the strict provision that you, the Jaywalker, move your ass with lightning speed or risk being forcefully reduced to a state of ooze.
"It's a damn shame. Didn't he know cars are solid?"
If I allow you to jaywalk in front of my car, I am extending a courtesy. Don't abuse it by slowly making your way across the road like I have to bend to your will. When that happens, the jaywalker is using my fear of killing someone against me. They think they have all of the leverage. So, when I honk at a slow-moving jaywalker, they get mad at me. I am extending the courtesy of not making you perform a series of very fast backflips against your will, and you get mad at me for honking? Yeah, sure. OK. I'm the asshole. You're absolutely right.The Solution:
If you're going to be a blatant dick about jaywalking, just turn the whole thing into a spontaneous gambling ring in which drivers waiting at lights place bets on how many flips oncoming cars will make your limp, rag-doll body do after being hit. It'll be like roulette, and you're the wheel.