“This might sound extremely stupid,” I said to my friend Julie R. a few months ago when she was preparing to visit from Maryland, “but what would you think about taking a ride in a driverless car?”

I thought my idea was a bit dicey, but she was immediately on board.

Now, I’m not normally a risk-taker. I’m afraid of pressure washers and sparklers and I don’t jaywalk under any circumstances.

There was something about the mystique of an autonomous vehicle, though, that attracted me. So, as a first step, I downloaded the Waymo app back in April – well in advance of Julie’s visit. Then up popped a dismaying message: I’d been put on a waiting list.

Aaarrggh!

By then, Julie already had been bragging to her family and colleagues that she’d soon be zipping around San Francisco in a driverless car, so I felt terrible. Reddit users claimed that time spent on the waiting list could be up to 6 months. I despaired.

But, just a few days before Julie’s arrival, a notification unexpectedly pinged on my phone. I’d been taken off the waitlist! We could ride!

***

Over the past few years, Waymo and Cruise driverless cars have been skulking around San Francisco, mapping its streets and evaluating all the potential situations that could be encountered in a metropolitan area. Our neighborhood, in particular, was so swollen with these cars that I’d see up to a dozen of them while out walking our dog.

The initial tests – apparently about 1 billion overall – included, of course, a human sitting in the driver’s seat. Then last August both companies were cleared to begin driverless commercial passenger rides in San Francisco. Since then, Cruise was suspended after an accident, and although it’s been reinstated in Phoenix, it’s still waiting to hear about its San Francisco status.

Waymo, however, continues to operate in Los Angeles, Phoenix, and the San Francisco area, with Austin on the horizon. It makes more than 50,000 trips a week, and so far its record has been exceptionally clean. After having logged millions of miles, it has been involved in no incidents resulting in significant bodily injury.

Human drivers, of course, do not produce the same stats. In late 2023, Waymo compared its data from 7.13 million driverless miles to cars with drivers and found that humans were more than twice as likely to get into any accident reported to the police and 6.7 times more likely to be involved in injury crashes.

And of those 7+ million miles Waymo had driven, the only three injury-related incidents involved minor bumps and bruises and were really not the company’s fault. One car braked (as it should have) to avoid a downed branch on the road, and its passenger was not wearing the seatbelt (as he/she should have been) and sustained a minor injury. Another car was hit from behind by an SUV driver who left the scene. In the third incident, the Waymo detected a vehicle approaching too quickly from behind, accelerated to avoid a collision (as it should have), and got hit anyway.

(By way of comparison, Tesla’s Autopilot system, according to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, has caused 467 crashes resulting in 54 injuries and 14 deaths.)

To be fair, a couple of weeks ago the NHTSA opened an investigation into reports of 22 instances of “unexpected” behavior from Waymo vehicles. In some of those cases, the cars may have broken traffic safety laws. We’ll see what the investigation yields. Of course, the incidence of humans exhibiting strange driving behavior would be much, much higher. I see it every day.

It sounds like the Waymos might sometimes be confused by parking lots. (As am I, frankly.) According to techcrunch.com, “In a February incident in Arizona, the Waymo AV encountered a closed gate and, when turning to leave the area, backed into parking spikes and popped its tire. In another from November, a Waymo AV crashed into a chain separating part of a parking lot.” I can’t say that I’ve done those specific things, but I probably will at some point.

***

We decided to use our first Waymo to take us to the Top of the Mark bar at the Mark Hopkins hotel on Nob Hill.

Summoning the car was ridiculously easy. The app knew where we were, so we merely input our destination and were given the price of the trip; the license plate of the car that would pick us up, as well as its location and the time it would arrive; the route we’d be taking; and the time we’d arrive at our destination. (The price, by the way, is about $4–5 more than a Lyft or Uber.)

All Waymo cars are electric Jaguar SUVs. When our Jag (as I like to call it) arrived, it pulled safely over to the curb in front of the house and waited. (Waymos will wait 5 minutes for their passengers. How polite!) My initials were displayed on the top of the car. (How sweet!) The door handles were flush with the car and could not be activated by anyone from the outside except me. I opened the app and hit an “Unlock” button. Voilà. The handles emerged and we piled in, filled equally with wariness and excitement. I won’t say that we squealed, but I may have giggled.

A maximum of four people can ride in these Waymos, but no one is allowed to be in the driver’s seat, and I imagine three in the back might be a bit tight. In our case, Julie S. and I rode in the back and Julie R. rode shotgun because she was an East Coast visitor and when would she get this chance again anytime soon?

Of course, the first thing we did was immediately buckle our seatbelts in anticipation of whatever kind of crazy crash would inevitably happen. While we were doing so, a disembodied woman’s voice (from Headquarters?) filled the car, reminding us unnecessarily to buckle up and letting us know – rather like a doctor’s warning that we might feel “discomfort” – that the ride might feel “futuristic.”

Well, that was an understatement! The car left the curb without a driver!

But our trepidation disappeared fast. I mean, really fast. In fact, I’ve never felt so safe with any driver in San Francisco, including myself!

We decided to call our car “Mo” – a truncation of “Waymo” that sounded genderless, as was our phantom chauffeur.

***

Mo navigated every conceivable urban challenge. It drove down three of the most difficult streets in the City – Market, Van Ness, and Divisadero – which are multi-laned, filled with buses and streetcar tracks, and bulging with pedestrians. It calmly stopped behind, then maneuvered around, scores of double-parked cars. It patiently and defensively handled bad drivers. And the pièce de résistance – it even safely pulled over when we heard a siren approaching!

Waymo chooses its own route, and that’s the end of it. You have no choice about that. But you do have a choice of temperature, which you can set to between 59 and 83 degrees. And you have a choice of music, most of which was a variation of electronic elevator or dental office music. Or maybe Enya. But look hard enough and there’s some rock in there, thank goodness. You’re also allowed to connect a Spotify app.

I have to say, I’d never ridden in a Jaguar in my life and it was all so luxurious. The only thing we could have used were massages! Or, as my friend Maryl suggested, a cocktail bar and maybe a piped-in scent.

***

In case you’re wondering, under normal conditions the Waymo people cannot hear you. I like this a lot. In cabs or Lyfts, I typically feel awkward and just fall silent. In the Waymo, we felt free to chatter away. One word of caution, however – Waymo people can see you, so sex in the car is probably a terrible idea!

If there is any sign of trouble, the Waymo folks will turn on the audio and speak to you. We got stuck briefly once, but of course it wasn’t Mo’s fault. A bus suddenly pulled in front of us and caused us to partially block an intersection. Mo was concerned and somehow “phoned home,” at which point a Waymo employee immediately contacted us to take care of the problem. During those few moments, however, the bus pulled forward, Mo carefully drove around it, and all was well. How Johnny-On-The-Spot our car was, though, to call its mama at the first sign of trouble!

***

At the end of our ride, Waymo found a safe spot to pull over without doing anything that crazy human city-dwellers do. It reminded us not to forget our bags and phone, and it bid us adieu. There’s even an audible warning if a bicyclist approaches that advises passengers not to get out of the car just yet! Considering the number of cyclists who’ve been smacked by opening car doors, this is a terrific feature.

We were actually sad to leave the car and couldn’t wait for the ride home. I mean, we’d been lounging around like chauffeured glitterati!

***

The Top of the Mark is a gorgeous glass-walled penthouse lounge on the 19th floor of the Mark Hopkins hotel that has offered drinkers and diners a 360-degree view of the City since 1939. Soldiers during World War II would buy a bottle of liquor and leave it with the bartender so that the next guy from that squadron to visit the establishment could enjoy a drink – a practice that remained ongoing as long as whoever had the last sip bought the next bottle.

The bar doesn’t open until 4:00, and there’s no point in getting to the hotel early because the elevators going all the way up to the Top of the Mark don’t operate until at least then. You have to time it just perfectly, and we did, getting the best corner seat in the house. And, surprisingly, the food and cocktails weren’t tourist-mediocre. The grilled shrimp tacos and margherita naan were terrifically tasty, and even the “Giant Pretzel” was to die for. As for cocktails, we mostly stuck with nostalgic basics – the San Francisco Sidecar, the Mark Old-Fashioned, and the Soul Train.

And it was so nice knowing that we could gaze at the City through a Sidecar buzz and then, at the push of a button, be smoothly escorted home by Mo!

***

I love most forms of transportation. Especially driving. For me there’s never been anything more exhilarating than a long stretch of open highway at night. I’d never want to give up my car.

I’m a good driver, too. After more than half a century behind the wheel, including 47 years in San Francisco, I’ve never had an at-fault accident or even so much as a ticket. I mean, there was the time I was driving two friends up to Lake Tahoe in my old Toyota Corolla, and it had been snowing, and I slammed on the brakes for an unknown reason and plowed into a snowbank, and my friend Diane Marino, who hails from New Jersey, shouted from the back seat, “All right, that’s it, get out and let me drive now, Miss Grew-Up-In-San-Jose!” Other than that, my record is clean.

But I know I’m not as good as I used to be. My focus isn’t as sharp, my reflexes not as keen.

I think Mo is a better driver than me.

***

The very next day, itching to jump into another driverless vehicle, we summoned Mo again to ferry us to Minnie Bell’s, a new soul food restaurant on Fillmore. Minnie Bell’s owner was taught her family recipes by her grandmother Lillie Bell and her great-aunt Minnie – all of them Fillmore residents. While chowing on crispy rosemary fried chicken, candied yams, mac and cheese, and cornbread, I sat facing a huge blown-up black and white wall photo of the same block in the 1960s, before the scourge of “urban renewal” decimated the neighborhood. What a tragic mistake that was.

Mo of course did a splendid job, including slowing down to 25 mph in school zones (what human even does that anymore?).

And we didn’t have to take multiple buses. We didn’t have to worry about parking. There was, in fact, ZERO STRESS!

***

Later that week, I ran into an acquaintance on the street and excitedly recounted our Waymo trips.

She rolled her eyes and told me, in all seriousness, that Waymo is capturing reams of data and that soon I’ll be forced to prove that I’m a “good girl” before Waymo “allows” me to ride.

Needless to say, I was bewildered.

And annoyed. I called her “Debbie Downer.” She just smirked.

I’m still not sure what she meant by proving that I’m a “good girl.” Did she mean that I’d have to pledge fealty to the company? Testify that I’m not a communist? Wha . . . ?

Waymo uses location tracking, of course, and can “see” not only its passengers but also external objects (thank goodness!). And driverless vehicles potentially could be hacked, just like anything else involving software. It’s definitely a cybersecurity risk that we need to recognize. (But it’s not just Waymo; the FTC is currently investigating all U.S. automakers – especially GM – over the reams of data they collect on drivers.)

I don’t think that passengers will ever have to succumb to any kind of litmus test, though. That’s entirely different and creepy and ridiculous and crazy-town.

So I’m going to continue riding with Waymo. Usually I take buses and streetcars; in fact, I hopped on the spasmodic 28 bus just a few days ago in search of a slice of Detroit-style pizza. But every so often I’m going to give Mo a ring.

And by the way, Mo – I’m not a member of the Communist Party and never have been! I swear!

***

COMMENTERS, PLEASE NOTE: WordPress is no longer supporting my particular page type and doesn’t seem to be asking commenters for their names, so everyone is identified as “Anonymous.” If you’re commenting (which I love!), please leave your name if you’d like me to know who you are!

***

Due to popular demand, I am including, at the end of each blog post, the latest random diary entries that I’ve been posting on Facebook for “Throwback Thursday.” These are all taken absolutely verbatim from the lengthy diaries I kept between 1970 and 1987.

September 5, 1975 [age 19]:

“Today at school was a bummer. My second class [upper division Philosophy] was horrible – we’re going to have to give three-minute oral presentations in there EVERY DAY, a prospect too horrible to endure, so I’m going to have to drop the damned thing and end up with only 12 units. I had my sophomore-year-acquired anxiety and typical voice shakiness when the instructor called my name, in fact could not even correct him when he asked if ‘Bacardi’ was the correct pronunciation, only nod in assent. What is WRONG with me?”

September 7, 1975 [age 19]:

“[My mom’s friend] Mrs. Rosales gave me a short haircut yesterday afternoon – I mean, cut off a PILE of it – and I liked it so much that I threw my arms around her and kissed her and then actually decided to go to the dance at the dorms. That was a mistake, because I have NO sense of rhythm or grace. I’d had a margarita with dinner to fortify me but it didn’t do the trick. The Japanese guy standing next to me [I lived in the International dorm], Yuki, asked me to dance and I danced HORRIBLY. Afterwards I let him hold my hand but I had more fun later when [my brother] Marc and [my friends] Joe and Ted came by and we sat around listening to the Animals and eating seeds. But now Yuki came by today and he thinks I’m his girlfriend! I don’t understand why guys expect you to be under their spell after such a short time spent together!”

September 13, 1975 [age 19]:

“[My brother] Marc and [my roommate] Sally and I went to the Pablo Cruise concert tonight in the [San Jose State] Student Union Ballroom. The first group we saw was so loud and utterly terrible that I couldn’t bear it except for the strange fact that the drummer was the drummer for Santana in the movie ‘Woodstock’ whose face hit me and seemed so beautiful and I thought I’d never see it again. The group was new and performing for the first time. We could tell. It then took ONE HOUR for Pablo Cruise to get the sound system right. They didn’t get onstage till 12:00, but the wait was worth it. Pablo Cruise was magnificent. They had four men, all talented, one who played grand piano so beautifully that tears came to my eyes.”

Note from 2024: By the way, the ex-Santana drummer’s name was Michael Shrieve – one of the greatest drummers of all time. By 1975 he was on his own, and I have no idea what band he was with at the time. Little did I know that 20 years later I would be interviewing him for Drum! magazine!

September 16, 1975 [age 19]:

“On Mondays and Wednesdays I have a Health Science class I picked up to give me a couple more units. The professor is quite old – probably in his sixties – with gray hair all pulled back so that he almost has a small ponytail at his neck. He is so uninteresting that we haven’t even gotten into actual health science yet; instead he’s been mildly asking us our views on illness. How ridiculous! The Tower List said that it’s a terribly easy course with an ‘A’ as an inevitable certainty. That’s all well and good, especially for me this semester because somehow and for some reason I find myself cutting every other class.”

September 18, 1975 [age 19]:

“I have a couple of weird events today to relate: First of all, in the parking lot this tremendously foxy guy came running up to my car as I was going through the lot and said he’d parked his car 4 days ago and if I’d cruise him around to find it I could have his parking space. Naively I complied, and his space turned out to be only one row up. Then when I went to my Novel class no one showed up, and I found out later that last Tuesday (which I cut) they’d decided to move to a new room! Then we went to see Christine Jorgensen speak, and then I put some Tequila in my root beer and I lost my shirt playing poker.”