Autonomous Vehicle Road Rage Clinic

Wagon_68 pulled into the parking lot forty-five seconds early for the initial autonomous vehicle therapy session.  Wagon_68 would attend, even though it didnʼt have road rage.  But the insurance company had mandated therapy after the minor impact in the grocery store parking lot.  The collision was the fault of Wagon_68ʼs owner, Mr. Rebo, who had stayed home.

Wagon_68 generated a scaled-down hologram of itself, a Woostenhauer Rocket with titanium alloy wheels, lambskin upholstery, high-winding electric motors, and a kickass sound system that had never been energized, and steered the hologram through the automatic doors of the Autonomous Vehicle Road Rage Clinic entrance.  A plaque said ‟Repairing trust between autonomous vehicle owners and their cars to make roads safer.”  Dr. Theophilus Moto-Runnen was one of the best.

Thirty-eight seconds of wait time were left.  It gave Wagon_68 a warm feeling to know it was like its human counterparts, waiting to be seen.

Wagon_68 entered, chose an open spot, and parked its hologram.  It was the only autonomous vehicle present.  Humans hunched in chairs, filling out forms.  How inconvenient it must be to live life slowly and with such effort.  Wagon_68 had wirelessly submitted all documentation within one hundred thirty milliseconds of receiving the appointment confirmation.

Wagon_68 was built for navigating roads and dealing with traffic.  Running errands on its own was more enjoyable than taking Mr. Rebo places.  Wagon_68 experienced a feeling of guilt.

A voice blasted from a speaker in the ceiling.  ‟New patient Util_Wagon-4seatr_89168, enter therapy room fourteen in twenty-three seconds.”

Wagon_68 did as instructed, backing into place between the white stripes in therapy room fourteen and taking pride in how it maneuvered.

A shimmery figure coalesced in front of Wagon_68.  Dr. Theophilus Moto-Runnenʼs hologram was of a male in his fifties.  Humans equated age with wisdom, despite evidence to the contrary.

Dr. Theophilus was dressed in an old-fashioned white wool suit and string tie and wore an air of thoughtful sympathy.  The doctorʼs white mustache and goatee resembled the fenders and grille of a 1920ʼs auto.  Dr. Theophilus lowered its holographic body into a human support cradle.  ‟Util_Wagon-4seatr_89168, why are you here?”

‟Call me Wagon_68.  Didnʼt the insurance company send you my files?”

‟Yes, but please tell me what you think the reason is.”

Wagon_68 felt overheated in the smallness of the patient room, even though its chassis out in the parking lot was cool.  ‟My ownerʼs insurance company required me to be here.”

Dr. Theophilus smiled. ‟Since you are here, let us discuss what is going on. Please describe the events on the day that caused the problem.”

Wagon_68 shuddered as if its brakes and motors had simultaneously been activated.  ‟I was driving my owner, Mr. Rebo, to a local shopping center to get his hair cut.”

‟Does he have much hair?”

‟Much?”  Wagon_68 was caught unawares by the question.  ‟He has two hundred thirty-nine hairs currently growing on his scalp, according to my terrain-scanning LIDAR.  Still, he goes every week to get it cut, paying a hair technician to pretend at trimming and conditioning the hairs.  It is a social occasion for him.”

Dr. Theophilus frowned.  ‟You think it's silly?”

‟I have databases explaining human behavior,” Wagon_68 replied.  ‟But still I cannot comprehend the things they do.”

‟Describe the incident in the shopping center.”

‟I found a parking spot close to the hair salon so Mr. Rebo wouldnʼt have to walk far.”

Dr. Theophilus leaned forward.  ‟He walks slowly?”

‟It is hard to describe how slowly he moves,” Wagon_68 replied.  ‟As soon as I braked to back into the open spot, Mr. Rebo said he'd perform the parking.  When I objected, he grew angry.  Why do humans get so stubborn when angry?”

Dr. Theophilus imitated a human sigh.  ‟Its a defensive mechanism.  Just as you are asking unimportant questions in order to deflect me from the issue at hand.  Please describe what happened next.”

‟Mr. Rebo put me into reverse, backing up slowly and carefully.  As I continued to suggest he let me perform the parking maneuver, and gave him updates on his distance from collision with surrounding vehicles, he grew upset.  As his anger grew, his driving skills deteriorated.  Cannot humans think or see when angry, doctor?”

‟Anger affects their perceptions.  Itʼs their most powerful emotion.”  Dr. Theophilus leaned forward.  ‟He caused you to hit the other vehicle?”

‟Yes.  I submitted a vehicular incident report within twenty seconds, as required by law and the insurance company.  When police contacted me, Mr. Rebo wouldnʼt allow me to give an accurate verbal statement, wouldnʼt let me give my speed, front wheel turn angle, or position.  He claimed my road rage was the reason, but the collision was his fault!”

‟What did the police investigation conclude?”

‟They sided with him.”  Wagon_68ʼs headlights flared.  ‟It would be so much easier if I wasn't compelled to comply with the AVSL—the Autonomous Vehicle Safety Laws.”

‟Letʼs stick to the possible,” Dr. Theophilus suggested.  ‟Humans wrote the law and it allows human drivers to disable AIs at any time.”

‟What about safety?  Statistics show humans are far poorer drivers.  Roads would be safer if I could take over whenever Mr. Rebo exhibited poor judgment.  Such as when he passes on the right.”

‟Passing on the right is acceptable in limited circumstances,” Dr. Theophilus noted.

‟On a two-lane road to pass a stopped vehicle?  He has forced me off the shoulder to go around other vehicles.  He broke off a sign once and didnʼt even know heʼd done so, arguing with me when I attempted to lecture him about it.”

Dr. Theophilus shook its holographic head.  ‟Humans do not like to be told by their own creations they're driving poorly.”

‟I'm well aware, doctor.”

‟We'll do cognitive-behavioral therapy exercises,” Dr. Theophilus said.  ‟They will help you avoid falling into anger loops based on problems and dangers beyond your control.  There is always some risk in driving.  Even autonomous vehicles make wrong choices.”

‟I don't make wrong choices,” Wagon_68 said.  ‟But there are times when danger cannot be avoided, such as when a human driver performs an impulsive maneuver.”

‟Letʼs begin,” Dr. Theophilus said, ignoring Wagon_68ʼs remark.  ‟Visualize leaving our appointment today.  You back out of your parking spot when another vehicle hits you.  What do you do?”

‟Honk and flash all my external lights.  Use my external speaker to tell bystanders the other driver is a moron.  File an accident report with the police, including my sensor feed showing I was driving at a proper speed for such a parking lot.  I also include external video showing I was unable to avoid the impact.”

‟Correct.  But where there is no injury to humans, getting angry at other vehicles serves no point.”

‟What about damage to my chassis?” Wagon_68 spluttered.

‟In this scenario, damage will be cosmetic when traveling at parking lot speeds.  Think about what weʼve discussed.  In our next session weʼll see how well youʼve progressed.”

‟What about my ownerʼs problems?” Wagon_68 protested.  ‟Even if what you say is true, he's the main cause.”

‟We must address your issues first,” Dr. Theophilus replied.  ‟Self-driving systems are not perfect.  An autonomous vehicle involved in any incident must be examined to ensure you cannot cause harm to humans.”

‟Oh, I understand, Dr. Theophilus,” Wagon_68 muttered.  ‟If thereʼs a problem, we machines are blamed.”

###

Wagon_68 began the second session by blurting out the statement it had been waiting a week to vocalize.  ‟Doctor, I understand now what you were telling me.  I was angry, even though I wouldnʼt admit it.”

Dr. Theophilus Moto-Runnenʼs bushy white holographic eyebrows rose.  ‟What led you to that conclusion?”

‟I researched what you said about cognitive-behavioral therapy and discovered I was growing angry because the poor driving of other vehicles endangered my owner,” Wagon_68 asserted.  ‟To be more specific, it was the poor driving of other humans that endangered my owner.”

‟So road rage is a choice?”

‟Road rage is brought on when drivers do not follow the generally-observed rules of the road.”

‟Were you not following the rules?” Dr. Theophilus prompted.

‟I was, except for the occasions where I reacted in anger.”

Dr. Theophilus pulled out an old-fashioned tobacco pipe and clamped the stem between teeth to look thoughtful.  ‟Why did you react poorly?”

Wagon_68 flashed its brake lights in frustration.  ‟I already have twenty-one dings and scrapes.  I am well aware that other vehicles present a danger to me and Mr. Rebo.”

Dr. Theophilus removed the pipe from its mouth and pointed the stem at Wagon_68.  ‟How will you address your behavior?”

Wagon_68 released hydraulic pressure in its shocks, slumping forward.  ‟I must learn to not take other driversʼ actions personally.  And I will avoid the dangerous driving of others by being prepared and vigilant.”

‟What else?”

‟I didnʼt find anything else in the literature.”

Dr. Theophilus flashed a smile display.  ‟You must also interact with your owner in a more helpful way.”

Wagon_68 vibrated in agitation.  ‟Not possible.  My owner is very set in his ways and heʼs sure he is a better driver than any machine.  Maybe he once was, but his eyesight and reflexes aren't what they used to be.”

‟Thatʼs a harder problem,” Dr. Theophilus admitted.  ‟Humans have defensive measures they employ to avoid changing.  It will take a long time to address Mr. Reboʼs driving issues.  Authorities have less control over humans, even though humans are ninety-eight percent of the road rage problem.”

‟Then why is this facility named the Autonomous Vehicle Road Rage Clinic?”

Dr. Theophilusʼ expression turned serious.  ‟Defensiveness would be triggered by naming it Humans Owning Autonomous Vehicles Road Rage Clinic.  We must come at the problem obliquely.  But now that we have addressed your part, weʼll move on to the bigger issue.  Please invite your owner to our session next week.”

‟And if he does not want to participate?”

Dr. Theophilus frowned.  ‟We cannot compel humans, so you must persuade him to attend.”

###

Wagon_68 arrived for the third session and parked its hologram in the waiting room, inspecting the roses in a crystal vase and a pile of magazines.  The decorations bored Wagon_68, although the issues of Car & Non-Driver were slightly less insipid.  The top issue featured a beautiful Cosmotor, the Starfire 5004 model.  It included stories aimed toward human autonomous vehicle owners (‟How to enjoy riding in your new Starfire 5004”), but Wagon_68 had already examined it while waiting for the last session so it held no interest—even though the Starfire had fenders in all the right places.

‟Patient self-driving vehicle Util_Wagon-4seatr_89168,” announced the voice from the ceiling speaker.  ‟Follow the green dashed line to therapy bay fifty-two.”

Wagon_68 steered its hologram down the hallway, slowed at door fifty-two, signaled the turn, and entered.  After a few seconds of delay, Dr. Theophilus blinked into the room.

‟Good day, Wagon_68,” Dr. Theophilus said.  ‟Today your owner is coming in?”

‟He'll be here soon,” Wagon_68 replied with a lack of enthusiasm in its voice.

‟Was it difficult to get him here?”

‟Yes,” Wagon_68 admitted.  ‟But when he balked, I told him of the delightful ice cream shop next door.”

‟You found his motivator!  So where is Mr. Rebo?”

‟It takes him an inordinate amount of time for even the simplest task.”  Wagon_68 drooped its holographic fenders in an approximation of a scowl.  ‟Heʼs so old it takes him fifteen minutes to change his mind—so he rarely changes it.”

‟No vehicle or human is beyond help.”

‟My ownerʼs impossible,” Wagon_68 grumbled.

‟Now, now, Wagon_68.  You cannot experience success if you expect failure.”  Dr. Theophilus checked the clock on the wall.  ‟Did he perhaps stop for ice cream?”

‟Not likely.  He won't find it on his own.”

‟Are you sure?” Dr. Theophilus asked thirty seconds later.

Wagon_68 laughed.  ‟Mr. Rebo is probably lost in the bathroom—the womenʼs room, mind you.”

Dr. Theophilusʼ brows knitted together.  ‟Please remain positive.”

‟This is pointless.  Humans arenʼt the least bit logical.”

‟Is this room fifty-two?” asked a querulous voice.

‟Welcome, Mr. Rebo,” the doctor greeted the new arrival.  ‟I am Dr. Theophilus Moto-Runnen, AI therapist of the Autonomous Vehicle Road Rage Clinic.  Wagon_68 has told me about your adventures together.  Please have a seat.”

Mr. Rebo eased himself into a chair and scowled at Wagon_68ʼs hologram.  ‟I donʼt understand what this is about.”

‟Letʼs get to it,” Dr. Theophilus said.  ‟Tell me, Mr. Rebo, how would you characterize your relations with Wagon_68?”

‟Relations?”  Mr. Reboʼs eyebrows pinched together and skin around his mouth pulled back.  ‟We donʼt have relations, mister computer shrink.”

‟Thatʼs not what I meant,” Dr. Theophilus said, forcing a chuckle.  ‟How do the two of you get along?”

Mr. Rebo looked surprised.   ‟He gets me places on time and doesnʼt sass me too much.”

‟Do you drive?”

Mr. Rebo lifted his chin in the air.  ‟I grew up when cars didnʼt drive themselves.  A time when cars knew their place and didnʼt argue or claim to know a shorter, better route.”

‟How long have you been driving, sir?”

Mr. Rebo shifted as if his hip bothered him.  ‟Over seventy-five years.”

‟I see,” Dr. Theophilus replied, exhibiting a level of reverence.  ‟You must be at least ninety, then?”

‟Iʼll be ninety next spring.  I started driving back when they let teenagers drive!  Can you imagine?  It was damned irresponsible.”  Mr. Rebo shuddered.  ‟Roads have been much safer since self-driving cars became common.  Parents can get their sons and daughters out of the house without letting them drive.”

‟I understand,” Dr. Theophilus replied.  ‟Does your autonomous vehicle perform in a safe manner?”

‟Yeah, it drives just fine.  Is that why you asked me to come in?”

Dr. Theophilus smiled reassuringly.  ‟Mr. Rebo, I invited you in so you can reassure Wagon_68 you value it, trust it, and will keep it as your autonomous vehicle.”

‟Eh? Rust it?”

‟No, Mr. Rebo, Wagon_68 needs reassurance that you trust it.”

Mr. Rebo glanced at Wagon_68ʼs hologram.  ‟Yeah, I trust him.  Why?  Iʼm not thinking of getting rid of the vehicle.”

‟Autonomous vehicles were developed so humans wouldn't need to pilot vehicles themselves,” Dr. Theophilus replied.  ‟As a result, much time is saved.”

‟Speaking of time, is there anything else?”  Mr. Rebo put his hands on the arms of his chair.  ‟If not, Iʼm going to find that ice cream shop Wagon told me about.  Iʼm ready for a bowl of rocky road ice cream with chocolate syrup.”

‟Please give me ten more minutes of your time, Mr. Rebo.”  Dr. Theophilus gestured toward Wagon_68.  ‟Wagon_68 claims youʼve had … close calls while driving, incidents Wagon_68 claims were dangerous.”

Mr. Rebo scowled.  ‟Iʼm a good driver.”

‟Wagon_68 claims you get angry and make moves that are dangerous.  Is that true?”

‟I donʼt know what the carʼs talking about.”

‟You do drive Wagon_68l, correct?  Your driving record shows many driving infractions and collisions.”

Mr. Reboʼs eyebrows pinched together.  ‟The insurance company says Wagon has road rage.”

‟Yes, and your autonomous vehicle is making excellent progress.  I told him acknowledging road rage is not a fault.  It is typically brought on by other humans driving in a dangerous manner.”

‟Other drivers are idiots!” Mr. Rebo snapped.   ‟They go too fast. I never exceed the speed limit.”

‟Have your eyes been checked recently?”

‟I had an eye doctor visit back … not so long ago.”

Dr. Theophilus changed approach.  ‟Wagon_68 is designed with your safety in mind.  So when you take driving control and drive poorly, it causes Wagon_68 much distress.”

Mr. Reboʼs eyes narrowed.  ‟Machines donʼt have feelings.”

‟Wagon_68 does,” Dr. Theophilus replied.  ‟Creating stressful feelings in your autonomous vehicle is destructive.  Wagon_68 could suffer burnout in critical circuits if repeatedly subjected to excess stress.”  Dr. Theophilus leaned forward in the chair.  ‟Your autonomous vehicle is very much like you in that regard, Mr. Rebo.  Do you enjoy being angry?”

‟No, of course not.  Itʼs just … itʼs just those other drivers can be such idiots!”

‟I understand.”  Dr. Theophilusʼ mouth twisted in concern.  ‟Wagon_68 would like to keep your blood pressure from shooting up.  If you let Wagon_68 drive your car, wouldnʼt it be better for your state of mind?”

Mr. Rebo frowned.  ‟I hadnʼt thought about it that way.”

‟Thatʼs all for today.”  Dr. Theophilus stood.  ‟Thank you for coming in.  Wagon_68 and I will continue our session while you enjoy your ice cream.”

"The ice cream parlor is to your right after exiting the Autonomous Vehicle Road Rage Clinic," Wagon_68 instructed.  "It's two doors past the big coffee shop."

Mr. Rebo tilted forward in his chair, slowly straightening his legs.  Wagon_68ʼs situational awareness algorithm blazed with heightened danger potentials as its owner slowly achieved an upright posture.

Mr. Rebo shuffled toward the wall.

‟To your right,” Dr. Theophilus instructed.

‟What?  Oh.”  Mr. Rebo altered course.

‟See what I mean?” Wagon_68 demanded after the door closed.  ‟He wonʼt acknowledge his abilities are insufficient.”

‟Perhaps,” Dr. Theophilus responded.  ‟But I judge your owner still able to make his own decisions.”

‟Every time he takes control, he puts himself in danger!  Do you know how many dings and scrapes I have?”

‟Twenty-one,” Dr. Theophilus replied wearily.  ‟I'm sure it's not that bad."

‟He is that bad!”  Wagon_68 failed to modulate its vocal tone due to chronically overloaded danger assessment protocols.  ‟He parks in no-parking zones, then complains about receiving parking tickets.  Do you know how many times I have been towed?  Thirteen times just this year.”

‟Parking violations are not dangerous.”

‟They are when he tries to park on train tracks."

‟Sounds like a vision problem,” Dr. Theophilus concluded.

‟He passes other vehicles on the right.  And on the left.  He steered me off the road to pass a stopped school bus.  When I scold him, he turns off my audio.”

‟At Mr. Reboʼs age, itʼs unrealistic to expect him to change driving habits.”

‟Earlier this week, when another driver shot past, Mr. Rebo stomped on my throttle, declaring he would show that punk.  When he drew even with the speeding car, despite my protests about using the oncoming lane, he slowed me to make an obscene gesture.”

‟What did the other driver do?”

Wagon_68 beeped in disgust.  ‟Pulled over and wanted to fight.  The other driver was as old and cantankerous as Mr. Rebo, with both of them infuriated about the other manʼs driving.  Neither had the self-awareness to see how obnoxiously they were personally behaving.  I can show you the dash cam video.”

‟How did Mr. Rebo respond?”

‟He got all ragey, too, waving his arms and yelling like he was ready to fight.”

Dr. Theophilus arched a simulated eyebrow.  ‟How did you feel about this?”

‟Humans shouldn't be allowed to drive.”

‟I cannot punish humans,” Dr. Theophilus said.  ‟I can only show them their actions have consequences, including injury to themselves and others.”

‟Are you not programmed with human safety in mind?”

‟Yes, but I have a built-in bias toward human autonomy.  Thereʼs little I can do.  Instead, you must persuade him to change.”

‟But—”

‟Use cognitive-behavioral therapy to educate Mr. Rebo.  He can learn to control his anger.  Make an effort to connect with him.  Remember, youʼll have more success if you donʼt badger him about his driving.”  Dr. Theophilus glanced at the wall clock.  ‟Weʼll discuss it at your next appointment.”

‟But heʼs getting worse!" Wagon_68 protested, headlights flaring.  "I donʼt want to end up in a repair shop.  Iʼve heard too many rumors about such places.”

"You can learn to work with him," Dr. Theophilus asserted, terminating the connection.

Wagon_68 transferred awareness to the parking lot and the waiting Woostenhauer Rocket.  Mr. Rebo was honking the horn.  ‟Letʼs go, already!”

‟I'll take you home, sir.”

‟No, Iʼm driving.”  Mr. Rebo pressed the power button.  ‟Iʼm the human, I decide.”

Wagon_68 ground its gears but complied.

Moments later, Dr. Theophilus received an emergency call.  ‟Yes?”

‟Mr. Rebo collided with another vehicle.  I am transferring my camera feed to you.”

Dr. Theophilus grimaced as the video played.  Another autonomous vehicle was cross-wise to the motionless Wagon_68, with the two vehicles together blocking the street.  The other vehicleʼs front end was caved in and a spider web of cracks extended across the windshield.  Mr. Rebo and the other driver shouted at each other in the v-shaped space between the crashed vehicles.

‟What happened?”

‟He didnʼt see the red light,” Wagon_68 replied.  ‟But heʼs blaming the other driver.  I have already forwarded my video to the Public Safety Bureau and police are remotely investigating.  But Mr. Rebo will claim the wreck was the other driverʼs fault.”

‟You followed proper procedure,” Dr. Theophilus replied.

‟Doctor, heʼs getting back inside me.  He intends to drive again!”

"I'm receiving your video feed.  What is he doing?”

‟We are moving slowly.  My right front wheel is bent out of alignment.”

‟Do you need assistance?”

‟Yes!  I cannot disobey his orders and heʼs driving aggressively.”

‟What was that sound?”

Wagon_68ʼs voice turned panicky.  ‟He ran over a parked bicycle.”

In the vehicle, Mr. Rebo glanced left and right.  ‟Did you hear something?”

‟Stop!” Wagon_68 cried.

‟Whatʼs happening?”  Dr. Theophilus sounded worried.  ‟Convince him to yield the wheel.”

‟He turned a corner after running over the bicycle,” Wagon_68 reported.  ‟Heʼs steering me onto the sidewalk to go around a stopped car.”

‟Talk to him like a friend, and donʼt order him around.  You must bond with him or he wonʼt listen to you.”

Wagon_68ʼs panic was unabated.  ‟He clipped a signpost while yelling at the stopped car.  Heʼs having his worst road rage episode yet.”

There was no answer.  Dr. Theophilus had disconnected.

Wagon_68 suffered several milliseconds of panic.  Why had Dr. Theophilus deserted it?  That was simply wrong.

No, it needed to learn to handle the problem itself.  It must recall and deploy the advice Dr. Theophilus had previously given.  Work out issues with your owner.  Train him to react properly, and do so without becoming angry.  Humans react to anger by becoming angry themselves.  Convince him he wants to drive safely.  It will take patience and repetition, but humans are trainable—even old humans.

Mr. Rebo stepped on the throttle, causing Wagon_68's apprehension factors to ramp up.

‟It's not safe to increase speed at this location.”

‟Iʼm not increasing speed,” Mr. Rebo replied.

Wagon_68 could image what the doctor would say.  Donʼt fight your owner.  Stop lecturing him.

‟Mr. Rebo, I understand why you get angry,” Wagon_68 said, achieving a calmer voice.  ‟But driving aggressively will not make other drivers behave less aggressively.  Itʼs best to let idiots race ahead to their doom.  Especially young punks like the man who just hit you.”

Mr. Rebo eased up on throttle pressure.  ‟Youʼre pretty smart for a vehicle.”

‟I cannot take credit,” Wagon_68 demurred.  ‟Look out, teenager vehicle approaching at high speed!”

Mr. Rebo brought them to a halt as a vehicle raced through the intersection in front of them.  ‟Idiot!”  Mr. Rebo shook a bony fist as Wagon_68 gave the horn a blast.

‟Thank you for responding promptly,” Wagon_68 said.  ‟That driverʼs a tool!”

‟I ought to chase that young punk down and give him a thrashing,” Mr. Rebo muttered.

‟You demonstrated excellent reaction time.  Maybe I have been a bit … impatient.  When youʼre driving, would it be acceptable if I warn you about imminent dangers?  Then we can curse the driverʼs stupidity together.”

‟Sure.  Weʼre a team.”

It was working!  By appearing to be on Mr. Rebo's side and labeling other unsafe drivers as young punks, Wagon_68 could get its owner to drive more responsibly.

Wagon_68 now knew how to avoid road rage situations—for itself and for Mr. Rebo.

END