Self-driving cars are the stuff of nightmares
Lacking these supernatural powers itself, my car still has to rely on me to steer it around, operating as a mere minion to my human whims. It occasionally tries to pull away on its own, feigning alignment issues.
My friend’s car is possessed by the devil.
It’s the only explanation. In some Stephen King-ish storyline, her brand-new Lexus SUV somehow knows the speed limit on every street and displays it on her windshield, brakes by itself should she get distracted and — weirdest of all — is selfaware: When it is parking, its dashboard screen shows what appears to be a bird’s-eye view of its own vehicular being.
Wha? How? Is there a disembodied, omniscient, automotive entity hovering above, monitoring every move? The GPS (God of Parking Salvation)? Drones with invisibility cloaks? Camera-enabled pigeons? Stephen King?
My poor little ancient manual-transmission Honda Civic Si, born in the dark ages of 2007, is feeling a little nervous around these new, young, cloven-wheeled, robotics-assisted demons as they quickly move toward complete, selfdriving autonomy, propelling us into the internal combustion of hell (until all cars are electric — then it’s the electromagnetic induction of hell).
Lacking these supernatural powers itself, my car still has to rely on me to steer it around, operating as a mere minion to my human whims. It occasionally tries to pull away on its own, feigning alignment issues. But it will just have to deal with my overbearing command for quite some time, because I’m not in the market for a selfdriving model.
This is not only because I’m apparently one of the few people left in the world who actually likes driving — I’d be bummed not to get to do it anymore if (when) self-driving cars become the norm. But also because I’m a control freak, and I don’t want to be relegated to the role of co-pilot, if that. I’d be more like mere cargo, my car shuttling me around from place to place like so many Amazon deliveries. And not even Amazon Prime. Just regular Amazon deliveries. Shudder.
Changing gears
Full-on self-driving cars are right around the corner, as we know, but it’s still a big shock to absorb. Even at the recent self-driving-car conference in San Francisco, some critics warned that the tech isn’t where it needs to be just yet. They say, in the rush to meet tech-lovers’ demand for these smarty-pants vehicles, automakers are making an unreliable assumption: “that the humans will be ready to step in and take control if the car’s
systems fail,” according to the Associated Press.
Transportation Secretary Anthony Foxx went so far as to tell the AP that drivers will be tempted to use the technology irresponsibly, such as what apparently happened in May when a Florida Tesla driver was killed in a crash when neither he — nor his autopilot — saw the side of a semi.
So right now, humans are still supposed to be a “backup” to the tech. You’re supposed to keep your hands on the wheel even when the car is technically in control. But you know you won’t. You don’t do that now! So you’ll be playing with your phone, doing mascara in the mirror, probably making a sandwich — unless the car can do that for you, too. You’ll be lulled into complacency, gazing at the passing scenery, looking at the cute dog in the driver’s seat of the driverless car in the next lane and wondering if it’s an Aussiedoodle or a Malamoodle and if dogs would be good drivers and figuring they’d probably prefer convertibles and … wham!
At this stage of the 21st century, technological glitches are not rare. My computer locked up three times just writing this column. What if your car’s brain gets linked to your smartphone’s brain and somehow starts playing Pokemon Go? Will it drive off a cliff to catch a Beedrill?
Will your car have manners? Self-driving cars have the ability to brake, but how about the social graces to give someone a break? Like at a four-way stop. I actually enjoy the humanity often demonstrated at four-ways. There’s a sense of order, of fair play, first come, first go. There’s kind of a friendly, smalltown feel when someone waves you on ahead, letting you go out of turn, out of the kindness of their heart, or maybe because there’s a wee baby possum crossing their path. Will their car see the wee baby possum? Or will it smush it in cold, mechanical indifference?
Be advised, if cars develop manners, they may also become possessed with the demons of road rage. We’ll have the Prius of Darkness, Bentley of Beelzebub, Lucifer’s Lexus, Satan’s Saturns. Yes, I realize Saturns are dead, so that would make them self-driving demon-possessed zombie cars. And one is probably named Christine.