Want to know what's frustrating? The DMV. Most frustrating place on the face of this god forsaken planet. That's the Department of Motor Vehicles, not the Delicious Milkshake Venue.
Incompetent reptilian women are put into employment there simply to spite the overwhelming mass of angry screaming customers flooding the 10 x 12 office. Possibly even more frustrating is trying to get a hold of these minions over the phone. Because it is impossible to reach an actual human before you spend half an hour shouting "customer service" into the phone. By that point, you've ruptured a couple organs, causing your throat to bleed and you to spew blood everywhere, all while trying to argue with a machine.
Because in Miami, no one really has to know how to drive. You just pretend to know, then crash, then die. It's part of the natural selection process here. The whole theory of "right of way"and red light, green light is just some crazy fascist ideal to keep the crazies under control. And well, we just cannot conform to that madness. It's every man for himself here, so put on those cargo shorts, and go run some shit over.