You are not in a parking lot, but you may as well be. It is five-o-clock in the evening. Interstate 394 is packed with vehicles, stretching past the bend in the road far ahead. The red brake lights of the stationary stream of cars ahead flash intermittently, suggesting only occasional movement. A woman next to you is fuming behind the wheel of a Ford Explorer and laying on her horn. "Sure lady, that will help," you think. Try to breathe and relax. You are going to be here for a long time.