I slid up in the right-hand lane behind a 1990's-vintage Pontiac Grand Prix on my way to work. Minding my own business, doing my usual routine of driving a bit slower than the speed limit because I tend to get there just as fast the fellow in the next lane, but with less brake-mashing.

Slate's resident Human Guinea Pig, Emily Yoffe, tops several of her previous columns with her own personal trial of The Secret.