by Gary Wunder
When you read this, the Blind Driver Challenge will be history, the most recent but certainly not the last chapter to be written in our book that will chronicle moving blind people closer to independence. All of us are delighted that the speed record now belongs to Dan Parker and our Federation, and this we must take the time to celebrate. But the really big deal is that this event moves us just a bit closer to operating a vehicle on our own.
In preparation for the Blind Driver Challenge, we held a Twitter chat to discuss what the creation of a self-driving vehicle would mean for us. Although I loved every one of the comments that were made, it occurs to me that we were all looking to hit the ball deep and deal with our most profound thoughts and feelings about the subject.
But what if we back off just a bit and deal with the not so important, the not so life-changing, the thing that, while somewhat important, won't determine whether I can live in a new place, take a new job, or radically change my own self-concept. What are the lesser motives that inspire me to work for the self-driving car, and, when examined, how important are they? Are there motives my dark side has that are never acknowledged since I work so hard at keeping him in his cage?
Let’s start with the lesser-known but nonetheless important power dynamics when you are in charge of the car. You determine whether the windows are up or down. If the windows are electric, you determine who has control. I was once riding with a passenger who was resting his hand on the door, the window was raised, he yelled for it to be let down, and the driver wanted to engage in a conversation as to why. After several pleas to put it down and the repeated question as to why, “Because my hand is in it,” was his reply. The driver relented, but it was slow, grudging, and without apology; why was his hand there in the first place? Though he was well into middle age, he got the mandatory lecture about one always keeping his hands inside the vehicle. I’ve also been in cars in which a woman’s long hair gets caught, not when she raises the window but when the driver does and has determined that he or she alone should have control and disables the controls on all the other doors.
Of course other prerogatives are enjoyed only by the captain: You determine the temperature in the car by deciding whether you need heat, air conditioning, or none of the above. In the first two cases, this means determining both the fan speed and the temperature of the air. Certainly, although you care about the people in the back, your prime consideration is how you, as the primary person in control and in the front, feel. You, lest anyone forget, are the captain, the one in charge, the one who holds all the cards and determines the hand each of your lowly passengers will be dealt.
Then comes the all-important question of when we stop for a restroom break, a cup of coffee, or a much-needed Hostess cupcake or candy bar? Who decides? The person in charge of the car, of course; up to this point, it has been the driver. If you are in charge, you can be the one saying: “you should’ve gone when we stopped earlier. We’ll be stopping at a restaurant soon; that will be healthier for you anyway. I really don’t want to spend all day on the road, so let’s get this trip done.”
In every human action there is some kind of pecking order, and in the case of the car, it is where one sits. When you run the car, your seat is not in question, and neither do you have to answer about how far back it is or how much it is reclined. All of this has traditionally been a matter of safety, but I suspect that some vestige of it will carry over. There is the door that only the driver uses, and then there are the passenger doors, those unassigned, and those who usually are operated by first come first served. Do you get to sit by one of them, or, as on the Southwest flights, are you the unlucky passenger who has to sit in the middle and make himself a couple of friends? It isn’t so much having a person on either side that is a problem, but that hump on the floor is never convenient. No one ever says, “Thank goodness for this bulge; my feet would otherwise not touch the floor.”
Now comes the real manifestation of power: you control the radio, the MP3 player, or what gets played from a streaming service. It is your music that gets played. It plays at the volume you wish. If a song comes along that you don't like, you don't ask the rest of the passengers; you skip it. If you want to play a song over again, you do. If anyone complains, you just smile, knowing that you have come into your own. When it is their car and they are in charge, they can have all of these perks that belong to you.
So as amazing as it might be that one day I might drive from Columbia, Missouri, to Olathe, Kansas, to see my grandchildren and perhaps take them for a spin, the big thrill will be the things that still remain under human control. And, if it isn’t clear already, how wonderful it will be that I am that human!