Waymo Than I Bargained For

For months I’ve watched Nashville’s Waymo fleet multiply like rabbits in springtime. Many of my friends have used them and the reviews have been favorable. However, unlike these brave souls, I still had my doubts about getting into a driverless car; the thought kind of scared the crap out of me. But then, last night, I was forced to face my fears.

It was about 10:30 and I’d just exited TPAC with a friend. We’d taken a Lyft from the West Side to downtown so naturally she opened the app once more and requested a ride home. She looked aghast as she read the screen. “This says our Waymo will be here in one minute.” I wasn’t sure if the fear in her eyes was of her own making or merely a reflection of mine. 

“Waymo? Really? Now?” Evidently the thought of climbing into a car sans driver had disabled my ability to speak in full sentences. 

“This must be ours,” she pointed at the square, blue model that had just stopped at our feet. But before we could get near the thing to see if it was ours, it pulled away and disappeared. 

“Should I cancel this ride? Maybe get a real driver?” My friend asked, deleting the original request. But no sooner had I said, “Yes!” than the app showed another Waymo arriving in, you guessed it, one minute. 

“I suppose we’re gonna have to go with it,” I grimaced.

Rounding the corner, we saw a fleet of driverless cars stretching up Union Street like a group of faceless Kindergartners lining up for a fire drill which was creepy. Undaunted, we stepped into the street to search for the correct license plate. But before we could locate it the light changed and the fleet of driverless monsters barreled ahead, nearly taking us out in the process.

Confused and getting angrier by the minute, we once again considered cancelling the damn thing. But then a small white Jaguar (La-di-da!) pulled up and paused long enough for us to see the license plate, which was a match. And just as the strains of the Hallelujah chorus began playing in my head, the thing took off without us.

Picking up our pace we reached the car as it rounded the corner and stopped. But then took off as if it hadn’t seen us. (To be fair, there was no one inside to see us, but with between the 13 cameras and 29 core sensors on board, shouldn’t it have been able to see and sense us?)

“Wait!” we yelled as if it could hear us, (there was no one to hear us either). So, we began to chase it; down 6^th Avenue, past the Hermitage Hotel, waving our arms like a couple of mad women. Finally, the little Gremlin slipped into a parking space, allowing us to catch up. But like the proverbial dog who’s caught the car, we realized we had no idea what to do next. 

“How do you open the door?” I asked after giving the handle a tug. This was the point at which my friend began knocking on the windows as if that would get someone’s attention. “I don’t think that’s gonna do any good,” I smirked. Looking at her screen for clues I spied the OPEN DOORS button and pushed it. Voila! Once again, trumpets played and a choir sang Hallelujah. We slid into the back seat. “Welcome!” a female voice purred at us from the console. “This may seem futuristic but remember to put on your seatbelts. Please keep your hands off the wheel and pedals. Press start when you’re ready to go.” After following her instructions and selecting music from the menu in front of us, the doors locked and we took off.

Other than trying not to be panicked by the fact that we were essentially trapped, continually believing that any minute some dude was gonna materialize behind the steering wheel, and trying to comprehend the route the Waymo was taking, to no avail, it was an OK ride. And by the time we’d arrived at my friends place I felt a little better about the whole experience than I had 20 minutes before. However, as I started my Subaru which was powered by human hands, and headed for home, I felt like I’d come back to earth and that suited me just fine.

It had been a long evening and by the time I walked through my door I was so ready for bed I could think of little else. Letting Nancy Drew, my cautionary tale in an Aussie Doodle dog suit, out to run in the back yard, I proceeded to the bathroom to remove my makeup with the lemon scented sheets I use every evening. 

I usually like the way these smell, I thought as a noxious odor assaulted my senses. Oh God! No! I screamed aloud as I ran to the back door. The overpowering and putrid smell of skunk spray filled the air and standing at the door, there she was, my crazy little dog, covered in ooze and straining to see though her already swelling eyes. Slamming the door shut, I grabbed a towel, returned, and cracked it open a hair in an attempt to corral her, but the little devil sprinted past me.

Giving chase I finally caught up to her in the guest room where she’d wedged herself between the bed and a bookshelf and, throwing the towel over her, I swaddled her, picked her up and charged full boar to the bathroom where I deposited her in the tub. When are you going to learn not to chase skunks? I asked her forcefully as I rinsed her eyes with cold water and began to lather her fur. Two latherings later I had to admit I wasn’t making much progress. 

Now you’d think that after my dog had been sprayed by a live skunk twice and had rolled on a dead skunk once, all in the last six months, I’d have the presence of mind to keep baking soda and peroxide on hand. Actually, you’d think I’d buy it in bulk and maybe even invest in baking soda and peroxide futures, but sadly, I did not. I had nada, zip, zero supplies on hand. Remembering that tomato juice might work, and having none, I grabbed a can of tomato sauce from the pantry which seemed like a good alternative and began dousing her with it. But as I did so, her white fur took on a pink hue and I panicked, once again, thinking I might have just inadvertently given Nancy Drew a new look nobody asked for. Luckily, this was not the case. And luckily, it did help reduce the odor, but not to any great extent.

By this time, it was almost 1:00 a.m. and my hopes for a decent night’s sleep had been dashed. Finally dropping into bed, I thought back over the evening – I’d ridden in a Waymo against my better judgement and spent an eternity wrestling with the skunk smell from hell. As I began to drift off to dreamland, I comforted myself with one final thought: I’d officially given myself a great story to tell. And honestly, that was all she wrote.