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The driverless white Jaguars crisscrossing Los Angeles were such a novelty at first, like something out of a science fiction novel. Every time a Waymo passed, delighted pedestrians pointed and grabbed their smartphones for photos.

And yet, there was also something kind of creepy about the robot cars zipping around town, whirring cameras jutting like taxi lights from their roofs. I found Waymos simultaneously intriguing and offputting, a great technological leap forward and yet another sign that the tech bros are not just in charge of our online lives, but our streets as well.

In January, the New York Times quoted harried (but affluent) parents singing Waymo’s praises as a great tool for helping get their teenagers around.

Eventually, as a single parent raising my teenage niece, I gave in. If I was too busy to take her to guitar lessons, say, I could plop her into a Waymo and feel good knowing that she didn’t have to interact with a potentially creepy adult male stranger. My niece loved being able to rock out to her own music at top volume. And, bonus: no tipping required.

My girl, bless her sneaky little teenage heart, soon realized she could cut me out of the equation entirely. She figured out how to order a Waymo using her Apple cash account. Hundreds of dollars later, I discovered she’d been sallying all over the place not in city buses, but in Waymos, including a few after-hours visits with friends.

I rather loudly hit the roof (apologies to my neighbors) and called Waymo support in a huff. The bot was not very apologetic, but it did kill my niece’s account. (Except for a pilot program in Phoenix for 14- to 17-year-olds, minors are not allowed to have Waymo accounts. Technically, they aren’t even supposed to ride without an adult.)

I expected my friends to be outraged on my behalf. Instead, they were amused.

“New technology, same old behavior,” was the consensus.

True. When I was 11, I hitchhiked with my friend Tracy along Pacific Coast Highway from Leo Carrillo to County Line. At 15, my best friend Julie and I hitchhiked from the Valley through Topanga Canyon to the beach. An unshaven guy with bloodshot eyes picked us up. A Marine just home from Vietnam, he’d been up all night drinking.

When Waymos are in the news, it’s almost never good.

They’ve been recalled to fix problems like driving into highway construction zones, across flooded roadways, into chains, gates and telephone poles.

They honk like geese when they turn in for the night, turning normally tech-friendly neighbors into sleepless antagonists, a whole new subgenre of road rage. In Santa Monica, near the intersection of Euclid........

© Los Angeles Times