Jedi never had to deal with aggravating commutes. That’s obvious, isn’t it? Because if they did have to drive to work amid the throng of Coruscant commuters, they’d pop over to the Dark Side faster than you can say “tailgating butt-monkey.” Once the second toothy bastard in the BMW speeder blathering on his com-link cut them off (without, obviously, signaling), they’d be blue-bolting the bastard’s gas tank. And cackling with long-suppressed glee. I know that I would.
Which, I suppose, is why I’d never qualify as a Jedi. I mean, apart from the lack of magical Force fairies living inside my body. Oh, thanks again for that, George. Bastard. No, I can’t just let it go.
The Jedi, the good guys, definitely get the short end of the Force power stick. What, really do they get?
Plus, there’s probably some stupid Jedi prohibition against using your lightsaber for anything other than defending yourself. No using it to open jars, no matter how stuck they are. No using them to cut 2x4s, or to trim the hedge. I mean, the spacehedge. Luke could have carved out the Hoth base in an afternoon, but probably whined about that being against the Jedi code. Lazy bitch.
I’m not sure whether the bad guys get this power or not. We never see Darth using it, but that’s because there’s simply no way to make anyone more likely to obey him. Maybe Darth gets his kicks by using the power to tell people something like, “You will disobey my next order,” giving them an order, and then watching them spontaneously combust as they try to resolve the internal conflict
On the other hand, the bad guys get all of the above, plus Vader’s Clenching Fist and Palpatine’s Bolts of Doom. Oh, sure, they’re also evil, but we never hear that Vader has to puree a bowl of kittens for breakfast each morning. It’s just that their skill set happens to qualify them for evil-oriented jobs. I’m not saying that, given those powers, I’d automatically become an evil technical writer; I’m just saying that, every now and then, I’d like to be able to do a bit of long-distance throat-squeezing. Just a little bit. Or at least slash their tires. Off.