My understanding of humans is limited to two things: we need oxygen and we hate slow walkers.

Hate might even be too mild of a word. Nothing raises our blood pressure more effectively than finding ourselves behind a dawdler on our trots to class or work. Nothing.

I remember experiencing this rage for the first time in high school, huffing and puffing around amnesiac lovers who would forget their undying passion for each other unless it was displayed in a mini-make-out session during passing period. “Self-control,” my brain would whisper as I ignored the urge to book-slap the human barriers.

I should have something to show for my years of practice behind crawlers and dilly-dalliers, but I don’t. I still huff and puff, rudely grind shoulders, and nip people’s ankles like a sheepdog until they’re out of my sight.

Since everyone I’ve ever talked to shares the same problem of sidewalk rage, I’ve never thought of it as a problem. In fact, it’s the people who drive us to this madness that have the problem.

But here’s the question: whose backs are we breathing down if nobody claims to have the problem?

I know there’s no shortage of slow walkers out there. They hover in dorm lobbies, Target aisles, train stations and most notably, sidewalks. They’re gabbing on their cell phones, taking pictures of who knows what and holding up foot traffic in every corner of the globe, every single day.

Yet in conversations, they’re nowhere to be found. When someone mentions that they were stuck behind a group of people walking four-across on the sidewalk, everyone in earshot throws up their hands and groans, “Don’t you hate that?!”

Nobody seems to realize that we’ve all been part of that group of four. At one point, we have all played each role in the story, the furious and the infuriating. We’ve hogged sidewalks just as frequently as we’ve accused others of doing it.

And there’s the real problem: our expectations for each other are too high, while our self-awareness is plummeting.

I wish I had a cure to this disease we all seem to suffer from, but I’m just as plagued as anyone. I’ll try to put it in perspective anyway. Ready?

It’s annoying to be cut off and stalled when you’ve got somewhere to be — believe me, I know. But let’s face it, we’ll still live to see tomorrow (and the next day) if we arrive to class 30 seconds later than we planned. Since when are we so eager to get more classroom time, anyway?

The truth is we can’t avoid irritating people on the sidewalk any more than we can avoid bills and flight delays. The best I can do, I’ve learned, is to remind myself that I, with my flushed face and other symptoms of sidewalk rage, look twice as stupid as the person in front of me. Don’t hate me for saying this, but the same goes for you.

Every so often, I’m reminded of the big picture, too. I’m sometimes that annoying girl dragging her feet as she texts on the way to the library. Occasionally, I hold a conversation in the middle of a bustling walkway, too. When I’m that deeply consumed in my own world, though, I won’t notice your rage, because I won’t notice you, period. This is my advanced apology. I hope you accept.

All we can really ask of each other is to have some self-awareness, and from there, things will improve. Allow me to kick-start this process: Sidewalk ragers, calm down. Dawdlers, get out of the way.

Please and thank you.