As I drive home one day after work, I stop at a red light between a local college and a high school. I’m about five cars back in my two-month-old red SUV. I notice a very old Asian man on the sidewalk wringing his hands in a state of obvious agitation. I look over at him, we make eye contact, and I look forward again waiting for the light to change. Seconds later, my car shakes, and I realize in horror that the little old man is trying to open my car door (thankfully locked – with my odd luck, I am very paranoid.) After failing to open the door, he climbs onto my hood. He’s yelling something in his native dialect. Much to my shame, I am horribly mono-lingual, so not only do I not know what he is saying, I have no idea what language he’s speaking. I just know he sounds angry. He’s so angry, his spit is spraying all over my windshield.