I didn’t know what to expect when I opened the Waymo app for the first time. I was outside my hotel in Los Angeles and Little Tokyo was about seven blocks away. Alphabet had announced earlier in the month that it had expanded its driverless Waymo service to anyone downtown, and I did not want to miss my opportunity to experience a bit of the long-awaited future.
A big, bold declaration at the top of the app promised I could be inside a driverless Jaguar in just four minutes. All I had to do was provide a destination in the search box. I typed in where I wanted to go, a clothing shop at Japanese Village Plaza, and Waymo prompted me to select three possible drop-off points, each one a three-minute walk from the store.
The idea of genuinely driverless cars navigating complex and chaotic streets is fascinating and frightening. New technologies and the changes they bring to society are unsettling, especially the ones that take away human control; Our control. The thought of completely handing over the task of driving to a computer still feels like dystopian science fiction.
Writing code for every possible situation a car could encounter seems impossible—there are just too many variables that could outsmart the software—and then there’s the tremendous amount of liability companies assume when they try. Promising to take responsibility for real human lives inside and outside the confines of cutting-edge technology is a gamble.
But I didn’t think about that wager as I picked a spot, completed the transaction through my phone, and waited under a nearby tree, watching the Waymo approach on the in-app map. Then it appeared, turning through a nearby intersection. It pulled to the curb away from any obstructions, and I unlocked the doors through the app and climbed into the back seat.
As I reached for the seatbelt, images of a runaway Waymo played in my mind. I’m not the type of person to trust the claims of modern safety technologies because no technology is perfect, and you won’t know it won’t work until it doesn’t work. (Thanks for the trust issues, Limewire). But I willingly strapped in and pressed the big, blue “Start Ride” button on the screen between the front seats.
The Jag pulled away as I began to record a video, not really paying attention to the disembodied digital voice reassuring me all would be well on my 15-minute journey through downtown LA at noon on a Wednesday. I wanted to capture the surrealness of the whole experience—staring at an empty driver’s seat with a cobweb-covered steering wheel spinning back and forth as the EV negotiated lane changes. This should have triggered all the alarm bells in my brain.
But it didn’t.
The electric I-Pace accelerated down the street, not necessarily pushing me back into my seat as it reached the speed limit, but with a human-like confidence that felt comforting. It felt capable of elbowing its way around any inconvenience it encountered, and it did.
The Waymo made its way to the left-turn lane behind another car already waiting at the light. It didn’t hesitate or jerk as it braked—It felt natural coming to a stop with the steering wheel slightly askew in anticipation of the first turn. The light turned green, the car in front entered the intersection, and the Jaguar followed.
I stopped recording less than two minutes later because the strangeness of the whole experience had already dissolved into feeling underwhelmingly ordinary. The Jaguar moved right along with the traffic through one intersection after another without issue, doing what Waymo had advertised it would do without being flamboyantly in your face about the technological capabilities at play.
Sitting back and letting the computer do the driving felt completely normal, but I stayed alert. I wanted to be ready to record any potential issue the car ran into, and I was not disappointed.
A few blocks down the road, the Jaguar encountered a Cadillac Escalade trying to parallel park. It backed into the spot far enough to let the car ahead of us squeeze by, but as the Jaguar attempted to do the same, the Cadillac shifted into drive and began to pull forward and into our lane.
The Waymo slammed on its brakes, coming to a complete stop nearly even with the SUV. I don’t know how close the two cars got to colliding, but it didn’t feel like the Waymo overreacted. It stopped and waited like any human would have done, minus the horn honk and a flying middle finger.
I could see the Escalade’s occupants, mouths agape, mystified by the driverless car sitting next to them before the driver shifted the SUV back into reverse and got out of our way.
The Jaguar cruised past, later encountering a pedestrian crossing the street outside a crosswalk. It didn’t approach the person at speed just to slam on the brakes like a new teen driver—the Waymo slowed well before even getting near the person, giving them time to cross without sacrificing too much of its momentum. It behaved like a real person behind the wheel.
And that’s just it—Waymo made the whole thing feel completely normal—from requesting the ride to arriving at my destination. After a few more turns, the Jaguar stopped at my selected drop-off point near the corner of South Central Avenue and East 2nd Street.
I got out, the Jaguar drove away, onto its next task, and I just stood there for a moment processing what had happened. A driverless car had just transported me through traffic-packed LA, down car-lined streets with faded lines, all while avoiding the uncertainties of other vehicles and pedestrians, and it didn’t feel timid.
It felt intentional. The way this cab traversed the city made it all the easier to relinquish control to a computer. Waymo made it feel as natural as handing over all your digital data in exchange for free online software and services. It was too convenient, quick, and easy—three technological qualities we humans love to love, especially if it gives us more time to endlessly entertain ourselves online, which I plan to do the next time I ride one.
