Upper West Side intersections can be puzzling — and chaotic. Photos by Yvonne Vávra
By Yvonne Vávra
It took me years to learn how to move like New York moves. Before the city, I just walked. Forward, steady, unchallenged. Not anymore. On an Upper West Side street, you’ve got to weave your way between a tree and a brownstone, or a trash bag and someone wrist-deep in nachos at a sidewalk café. All the while, you’re dancing around strollers, dogs, and whatever else decides to cut in, while tree roots and rats quietly undo the pavement beneath you.
On the avenues—especially near a subway station—it’s go time. You’re dropped into a video game, and only razor-sharp focus and split-second reflexes can get you to the next level. Challenges come flying at you: Upper West Siders darting around corners, delivery bikes, smartphone zombies, tired tourists, toddlers in strollers, big personalities, tiny dogs. You’re dodging, yielding, pivoting. Nothing beats the rush of owning the chaos and coming out unscathed.
And now, AI wants to join the circus. Self-driving cars are rolling into New York—just eight of them, courtesy of Waymo, taking their first supervised spins in a pilot program. One was recently spotted on the Upper West Side, and reading about it stirred up my usual cocktail of curiosity and existential dread. I’m all for change, but when it shows up, I’m wired to meet it kicking and screaming. How many professional drivers will lose their livelihoods? Will Waymo’s profits trickle back to the city in any way? Could these cars get hacked and send my helpless butt straight to Jersey? What if a software glitch traps me in an endless loop around Columbus Circle—like that poor guy last year who got dizzy in a Waymo that just wouldn’t stop circling a parking lot? On a Monday, no less.
I’ve got plenty more concerns. Like, what happens to our self-worth when we’re constantly reminded we’re not good enough, and the future doesn’t need anyone who can’t build, train, or command the machines? But for now, let me distract us from the existential ache of being the squishy, error-prone species in the room by focusing on another concern: the robot’s wellbeing. Will New York drive it to its knees?
I hail from a country of order and loving respect for rules. Even in supercool Berlin, we do not question the will of the red light. We wait at the crosswalk, car in sight or not, and we’ll hiss at you if you dare to use your common sense and step out against the light. In that climate, robot cars can thrive.
But here? Waymos will need to learn how to get angry or find other reasons to push ahead with gutsy entitlement. I’ve learned that as a pedestrian on a side street, if a driver hesitates a second too long to claim their right of way, that means I go. If we make eye contact and they look like well-adjusted citizens, that means I go. And if they start moving but I bare my teeth? That also means I go. At the same time, I’m happy to lose the battle and yield to the stronger attitude. It’s all about instinct, intuition, and mutual understanding.
Will Waymo know what to do here?
What’s a Waymo gonna do? Politely wait until the last of the human obstacles has taken their chances? It’ll be stuck at that crosswalk until the battery dies.
AI cars play by the rules—and that might be their dead end in this city. Between jaywalkers and double-parkers, tourists on Citibikes and less confused cyclists, fearless pigeons, and airborne plastic bags, this place is going to fry their circuits.
However, the chaos will feed the machines. The New York pilot program will be a goldmine of hot, messy, one-of-a-kind data to train the next generation. They’ll know better. And from what I know about AI (admittedly, next to nothing), they won’t hesitate. They’ll take it up with us and move with cold, unshakable confidence.
Until then, I wish them luck. Because we’ll keep moving in our bold, entitled ways, fully aware the robot is the rational one, which makes it weak. Rational just isn’t the right mindset—uh, cognitive architecture—to make it here. I mean, do they even speak Honk?
Subscribe to West Side Rag’s FREE email newsletter here. And you can Support the Rag here.