
"Is this Waymo a better person than you? You don't want to make assumptions, but it did come to a complete stop at the stop sign. Not a California stop-a stop during which time actually passes. You feel this, and experience a slight internal recalibration, like when someone else puts their shopping cart back and you realize you'd been hoping that no one would notice that you hadn't."
"This Waymo seems comfortable with ambiguity. You are not. When a pedestrian approaches the crosswalk, the Waymo slows-even though the pedestrian hasn't fully committed. They're sort of hovering, looking at their phone. They might cross. They might continue scrolling. If you were driving, you'd have spent the rest of the afternoon experiencing low-grade irritation at the pedestrian. And when the light turns yellow, this Waymo does not speed up. It does not calculate whether it could make it."
"It does not believe in "probably." It waits. Behind you, a human driver honks. The Waymo absorbs this without flinching. You feel the honk deep in your shoulder muscles. Another car cuts in front of you. The Waymo brakes. It does not then surge forward to assert dominance. It does not briefly consider engaging in Reddit-sourced novice witchcraft to place a curse on the person who has wronged you."
Waymo comes to full stops at stop signs rather than doing rolling 'California stops.' It tolerates ambiguity and slows for pedestrians who hesitate at crosswalks. It refuses to speed through yellow lights or calculate 'probably' outcomes, instead waiting. It absorbs horns and other drivers' aggression without reacting. It brakes when cut off rather than retaliating, and avoids behaviors like opportunistic texting while driving. It can park perfectly between lines on the first try, prompting comparisons and feelings of resentment or self-reflection. The vehicle's consistent, rule-based restraint contrasts with human impatience and moral flexibility.
Read at The New Yorker
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