“Just when you think it’s safe to be a jerk on the roadway…”

Motorists in many cities have grown accustomed to the likelihood of having their license plate photographed if they exceed the posted speed limit and/or run a red light.

(Sadly, other motorists are shocked — shocked, I tell you — every single time they receive a citation. It’s like we have goldfish behind the wheel of a hot rod! But I digress.)

Now New York City and other municipalities are experimenting with noise cameras (sometimes referred to as “acoustic cameras”) that spring into revenue-generating action if vehicles exceed a certain decibel level.

Government officials are working the technology into their budgets because (a) noise pollution can disrupt sleep patterns and cause permanent hearing loss and (b) they have been underwhelmed by alternative programs, such as having bands of off-duty librarians riding in the back of a ’74 El Camino, shushing other motorists.

Law enforcement officers have traditionally paid only sporadic attention to “here and gone” noisy vehicles, but that approach runs the risk of being perceived as a challenge. Think of Sgt. Carter on “Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C.” taunting, “I can’t heeeeaaarrr you!!!”

Critics of the surveillance program express concerns about inevitable software glitches, the inability to cross-examine the cameras in court and the temptation for the authorities to abuse the data. But one might say that the instigators are ultimately responsible for any collateral damage.

Opponents of the cameras attempt to blame the victim, remarking that the presence of illegally modified mufflers and attention-seeking antics are just features people should anticipate in an urban environment. Urban ambience or not, they don’t seem so agreeable to their bank balance being modified by traffic court.

I’m sure there are females with noisy vehicles, but the decibel deluge seems most closely tied to the stereotypical male displays of prolonged adolescence and mid-life crises.

How our species has fallen! Men used to prove their manhood by hunting and gathering. Just imagine today’s problem motorists time-traveling back to caveman days. (“I can’t provide any food, but I can rev my engine, pound the horn and burn rubber like crazy.” “Uh, yeah … why don’t you just stand over there in that tar pit while we fetch your prize ribbon…?”)

The noisy drivers think they’re performing a public service by cruising around town sharing their questionable music playlist at Mount Vesuvius volume. I suppose they’re frustrated DJ wannabes. (“Hello out there in Radio Land. Speaking of which, your land seems to be crumbling into the ocean.”)

The racket-obsessed drivers have deep theological misgivings. (“Opposable thumbs are okay, but it would’ve been cooler if God had equipped us with middle fingers that produce comical sound effects.”)

These geniuses contribute to the din even when they’re not behind the steering wheel — by necessitating an outsize portion of that necessary evil “the ambulance siren.” (“I must’ve missed class the day the teacher explained that cherry bombs are not standard issue for the installation of a bidet.”)

Cities had better be in this for the long haul. The ascendance of quiet-running electric vehicles will simply spur rebellious drivers to do some malevolent carpooling.

(“Hey, Jackhammer Guy — hop in and ride shotgun. And Leafblower Guy, do you know anybody who wants to drag race? Wadda ya mean, you already answered that question five seconds ago? Glub glub.”)

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at tyreetyrades@aol.com and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”