I commuted in Atlanta for seven years. There were many “Worst Traffic Jam Evers,” perhaps too many to remember. Except one. And it was a typical day.

So, as we motorists inched our way up Highway 400, the GDOT sign over the road warned us of an Amber Alert. “Red Nissan Maxima...” I looked out my right window and there was a red Nissan Maxima. The driver was like me in a shirt and tie, and he looked back at me, and yelled, “NO, It’s NOT ME! I SWEAR. IT’S NOT ME!” I laughed. He laughed. But I knew, this was how that poor bastard’s ride was going to be for then next eight miles and crawling speeds.