It’s Super Bowl weekend here in America, which means a few things: copious amounts of gut-busting food, controversial half-time show performances, extravagant commercials, and occasionally a bit of football.
For the tens of thousands rich enough to afford tickets to the Big Game, transportation to and from Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara, California, will be paramount. Thankfully, our robotic saviors are here to rescue the throng from the indignity of sharing a ride with an actual human being. This year’s Super Bowl is a test of the driverless taxi industry, currently lorded over by Waymo – a company that’s about to get a $16bn cash injection to further expand its business to cities all around the world. Smaller American metro areas like Sacramento and Nashville are next up to get Waymo service, as are global capitals like London and Tokyo. Fleets of robotaxis are seeming more and more inevitable, yet another soldier in the onslaught of shiny gadgets designed to sand off the sharp edges of modern life. I, for one, welcome our new robot overlords.
With some reservations. When I first tried Waymo after it landed here in Los Angeles, I was prepared to loathe the entire experience. Yet more low-wage workers out of a job thanks to ruthless automation. Efficiency over humanity. Plus, the cars looked stupid. Clunky modified Jaguars with a bunch of bulbous sensors all over the thing. Waymo cars resemble an expensive PC gaming mouse on wheels. Some of them even come splattered with garish, multicolored graphic art designed to make the cars seem more friendly and less like a traveling recession indicator. And yet, I found myself eerily at peace inside the cold, sterile environs of the car. There was no driver, which meant no mystery smells, haggling over the radio, or idle chit-chat.
Now, I recognize that interacting with strangers is part of life, especially life in a major city. Adults should be capable of making small talk if necessary. Politeness is something I personally appreciate. But there are limits for even the most well-mannered souls. Most Uber and Lyft drivers are normal, kind and appreciative of the customers making use of their service. Then, there’s the occasional driver who asks too many personal questions, makes lewd jokes, or worse, thinks they might be the Second Coming.
After a night out, years ago, my then girlfriend and I were returning home via rideshare. Our driver, who conspicuously ignored the digital driving directions on his phone, managed to turn our 10-minute trip into an extended 20-minute monologue about the nature of existence. At one point, his unprompted Ted Talk landed on the question of whether or not he could be Jesus Christ reborn. I suppose driving a rideshare cab could be considered the modern equivalent of being a carpenter, but I didn’t share that thought in the moment.
Waymo’s AI system doesn’t believe itself to be God. At least not yet. That’s one in the plus column. Waymo has not laid out its plan for world domination, and it also allows me to link my Spotify account to the car’s audio. That’s probably another sophisticated data mining operation, feeding their database with every song I’ve ever listened to so it might serve my phone targeted ads for Sabrina Carpenter tickets while I’m on the toilet. But at least I can listen to Espresso as many times as I want in a row without being judged.
I’ve now used Waymo multiple times, and I’ve felt slightly less guilty every time. That gives me pause, as I still read stories about Waymos decimating the taxi industry, hitting people or slamming into parked cars. Cabs operated by living drivers hit people, too, I say to myself. Every Waymo I’ve ever been in has been more cautious than just about every human cab driver I’ve ever been driven by. Traditional rideshare apps also have a serious issue with sexual assaults perpetrated by their contractors, with Uber recently ordered by a jury to pay $8.5m to a woman who said she was attacked by a driver. Driverless robotaxis would prevent such horrible incidents from occurring.
Still, there are other solutions to this problem that don’t kill jobs – specifically one staring us all right in the face.
Just start using taxis again.
I’m sure that sounds archaic. A taxi? Like those clunky yellow Priuses that run red lights and have interiors covered in rubber like a sanitarium? Yes, a taxi. Regular taxicabs can be hired via apps just like Uber and Lyft. They are heavily regulated by municipal oversight. Their drivers have a union that ensures fair treatment and equitable wages. Because this is their actual profession rather than a side-hustle mandated by the collapse of the American middle class, they perform their duties with a dash more stoic responsibility and are far less prone to describe their potential for being the Messiah.
In the last 20 years, tech barons (and craven politicians) have repeatedly told us that regulations are bad for us, that it slows down innovation and robs the world of the shiny utopia that digital products offer. The reality is, regulations are not bad for us. They’re bad for them – the billionaires that dream of being trillionaires. Regulations force them to temper their ambitions, to think rationally, and to consider the greater good of society rather than their ever-expanding bank accounts.
It all can start to feel rather nihilistic. Last year, the CEO of Waymo told a live audience that society will accept a hypothetical driverless car death and it wouldn’t affect their business growth. Other tech CEOs rhapsodize about the possibilities of artificial intelligence to decimate entire industries with messianic glee that weirdly reminds me of the spiraling rideshare driver that ruminated on his own divinity. I think I might enjoy riding in Waymos precisely because I’m eager to spend time sealed away from the mass delusion event that is life in 2026. I’m like the protagonist of the Gary Numan song, hopelessly addicted to the solitude of the automobile and incapable of interacting with the outside world. Unfortunately for the driver with the Jesus complex, he can’t afford to make his megalomaniacal dreams come true. But for those that can, it’s full steam ahead.
Dave Schilling is a Los Angeles-based writer and humorist
