Smooth, silent, strange: What it’s really like to hail a robotaxi

Some people can brush off careless, dangerous driving when they see it. Not me. I loathe it and shake my fist at the sky like Grandpa Simpson. 

As a pedestrian and motorist, I’ve been nearly struck by distracted or careless drivers more times than I can count. Recently, my jaw went slack when I watched a driver stop at a red light, then proceed through the intersection before the light turned green, all while holding — and looking — at their phone in their non-driving hand. It really is bad out there. 

You’d think experiences like these would make me an unequivocal believer in autonomous vehicles. Since I live in the San Francisco Bay Area, riding in one is actually possible. Waymo has been fully open to the public in San Francisco, ferrying paying passengers around, since mid-2024. The company also now operates in Los Angeles and Phoenix, and will open its doors to the public in Atlanta and Austin later this year. 

Waymo and other robotaxi companies promise an escape from terrible driving, thanks to vehicles programmed to obey traffic safety rules and laws. Imagine no more so-called California stops that send pedestrians stumbling backward, no cars hurtling through highway traffic at dangerous speeds as if their drivers are playing a video game, and no drunk motorists putting everyone’s lives at risk. 

That sounds great, but as a journalist I’m also trained to be skeptical of most things, and especially of an emerging technology with billions of private and shareholder dollars at stake. Plus, I keep seeing viral videos and news stories about robotaxis — mostly Waymos — making mistakes. They’ve driven into concrete, circled the airport, and steered into oncoming traffic. 

As Waymos become more commonplace, I wanted to see what riding in one is like and whether the hype lives up to the experience. 

What is it like to ride in a robotaxi? 

I hailed my Waymo in downtown San Francisco via the company’s app. When I stepped into the electric Jaguar I-PACE, I knew what to expect. There would be no driver, but I’d be able to see the wheel turn along with the car’s movements. I also understood that we wouldn’t need a driver if all went well. 

But if something unexpected happened, like a glitch that stalled us mid-trip, I’d probably wish for someone at the wheel and would have to rely on remote customer support, which a passenger can call from a console in the back seat. 

Upon settling into that backseat, I noted the music already playing through the car’s speakers. I described it as “spa” music, shorthand for the kind of soundtrack you might hear while getting a massage. I’m not sure what this says about me, but I was instantly calmed — until the Waymo needed to turn left across oncoming traffic to begin my ride to the Chase Center. I wish I’d been on my way to cheer on the Warriors, but alas, my test ride had no purpose other than to spend time in a Waymo.

First, though, we needed to make it across the street in one piece. I’d heard Waymos were overly cautious, so I was surprised when the car executed an ambitiously human maneuver. As the car assertively swung into a narrow space behind a delivery truck and in front of a passenger car, I was reminded of a few white-knuckle moments I’d had driving in New York City traffic long ago. Thankfully, no oncoming driver was laying on their horn, shouting at my driverless car for cutting them off. 

Thereafter, the ride was remarkably smooth. To my great delight, the Waymo slowed and stopped at each intersection we approached. On the console screen in front of me, I could see what the car’s sensors perceived around it, including gray figures representing pedestrians on and off the sidewalk. It is true, sometimes tragically so, that human drivers are oblivious to pedestrians, and the screen gave me more confidence in Waymo’s baseline ability to navigate a hectic city street. 

I did notice that my Waymo took a very roundabout route to the Chase Center, but it factors in a number of variables that aren’t always clear to the passenger, like road conditions and construction. Unlike a human-ride share driver, you cannot direct a Waymo to your preferred route. 

The ride, just shy of two and three-quarters of a mile, took 17 minutes and cost $20.02, an amount that, frankly, I wouldn’t have paid unless I could be reimbursed for it—or was indeed seeing the Warriors play and was late for tip-off. A comparison against Google Maps estimated a shorter ride both in distance (2 miles) and duration (12 minutes). 

I took an additional two trips that morning. By the time I’d covered 6.2 miles of ground in an hour’s time, I’d paid nearly $50. Altogether the rides were largely pleasant but also pricier than I expected. To return home that afternoon, I took a ride-share from the Bay Area’s version of the subway and paid $10.99 to go 2.8 miles, tip included. 

What you get for the Waymo premium

The Waymo premium may be worth it for some. 

Jeffrey Tumlin, a regular Waymo rider who recently served as the director of transportation of the San Francisco Municipal Transportation Agency, told me that he’s heard from many women and trans people who prefer Waymo for safety reasons. There’s no scrutiny of their gender identity, confrontational interactions, or riding in fear, with the emergency button open in their app the duration of their trip. (For more about the overall safety of robotaxis, read this story.)  

As a woman who has felt unsafe in a human ride-share vehicle, I can absolutely see paying for a Waymo in certain scenarios. At the same time, people have figured out ways to otherwise harass — or terrorize — Waymo riders. 

Last fall, a female Waymo rider in San Francisco couldn’t proceed with her ride when two men stood in front of it, demanding her phone number. The rider contacted Waymo’s customer support via the car’s backseat console. 

Some riders may also like traveling alone, without the pressure to make conversation, whether or not they’re worried about their personal safety. I’ve certainly gotten into a ride-share exhausted after a long day, hoping to exchange only pleasantries with the driver. But I also enjoy talking to drivers when my energy level is high and our personalities are a match, perhaps because my job involves chatting with people I’ve never met before. 

I do worry that an autonomous future, writ large, will eliminate everyday opportunities to connect with other humans, even fleetingly. These are moments that can further train our ability to see strangers as people with their own hopes and dreams, who might be someone’s son or mother, to whom we might be able to extend compassion or understanding. 

Why am I writing about this earnest dynamic in a review of Waymo? Because after taking one I can see how ordering a driverless car is both a convenient but complicated choice that involves tradeoffs. There are the mundane bargains, like knowing that the ride might take you longer but at least you’ll be able to sit in silence. Yet riding in a robotaxi is also about negotiating your humanity in an increasingly technological world. 

Everyone will develop their own unique understanding of what this means for them, but it would be a mistake to pretend that hailing a driverless car is an inconsequential act.