I live in a cul-de-sac, one of eight houses separated from the rest of the road by a staggered junction. My pet hate is those numpties who cruise straight across the junction, or pull out from it without so much as a by-your-leave to the fact that people do actually go in and out of the cul-de-sac. Then they look at you gone out when they see you, as though you have no right to be there at all.
One bimbo, with a carload of sprogs, actually did that embarrassed laughing thing when I sounded my horn and mouthed 'sorry' to me as though I'd find it just as amusing as she did. I doubt she'd have found a red MR2 T-boned into her car (and her kids) quite so amusing.