When it comes to dealing with unruly kids on the ferry, everyone has their own tactic. Some move. Others try "the look." Very few ever say anything. I've opted for the plug-and-crank method of giving the kids their space and keeping my sanity. My trusty earbuds have gotten me through many rides alongside screaming adolescents. But sometimes things happen that even Steve Jobs couldn't have seen coming. Like the other day, when a young man of 5 climbed on the back of my seat, watched me watch Me, Myself, & Irene, and swung his head back and forth, inches from my forehead. I was ready to toss him to the sea lions. And from the look on his dad's face, I probably wouldn't have faced any charges. A couple weeks ago, one rider took his cause to the next level, shooting off a letter of complaint to WSF and a handful of west-side school districts. "I believe the above school districts are unaware of the inconvenience they cause to the everyday commuter when they do not provide alternate transportation for their students on field trips to the east side of Puget Sound via the ferry," he wrote. His remarks ranged from hilarious ("What is the screening process for chaperones? Do they go through a criminal background check?") to absurd (suggesting that students remain in their bus the entire ride)—but they certainly made clear that this gentleman views groups of kids as an inconvenience, if not an outright nuisance. But if we're going to have a serious conversation about the most annoying, inconsiderate, and downright offensive riders of our ferries, let's not forget about... Post-game drunks: You're loud, you wrestle, you smell like plastic bottles of MGD. After spending an hour with y'all, it almost makes the night out not worth it. This isn't Greek Row. Anyone barking into their phone for longer than 70 seconds: I'd rather live through the roar of 100 8-year-olds than a single person walking that patient someone on the other end of the line through their entire miserable day. This isn't your living room. People who take up entire benches to sleep on: It's not that I want to sit next to you, it's that when I get on the boat after you, you've left that bench smelling like dorm-room bedsheets. The air actually tastes like B.O., thanks to you people. This isn't your bedroom.