Getting out of a taxi shouldn’t be a shameful experience. Yet I find myself feeling particularly embarrassed while exiting a Tesla Cybercab as it partially blocks a narrow road outside a popular Austin swimming hole. As a cadre of annoyed, sweaty Texan parking spot hunters pile up around it, the gold-painted two-seater just sits there obliviously, lights flashing. I try not to make eye contact, but I can feel the stares of frustrated pool-goers around me, whose earnest attempt at a peaceful outdoor reprieve from the heat had just been interrupted by yet another not-quite-finished glimpse into the future.
Tesla’s long-awaited, two-seater Cybercab is officially offering paid rides in Austin, Texas, and the experience, so far, somehow feels equal parts nerve-wracking and reassuringly boring — often at the same time. The Verge spent the better part of an hour in the gilded hype-mobile last weekend, gallivanting around a roughly 288-square-mile geofenced area of the Texas capital.
At its best, the service offers one of the clearest glimpses yet of a near future where autonomous vehicles feel less like a retrofitted version of the cars we know now and more like purpose-built autonomous lounges, free of steering wheels or pedals. But long wait times, reported issues with the butterfly doors, and traffic-jam-inducing drop-off locations muddy the picture.
And while nothing went seriously wrong during my rides, the self-driving software also didn’t feel as confident as you would like in a car with no manual controls. It felt more like a slightly stoned teenager, nervously braking, indecisively bobbing between lanes, and seemingly second-guessing some of its decisions. There’s also an unavoidable Elon Musk–shaped cloud hanging over every ride, attracting angry eyeballs and carrying all the political baggage that comes with anything he touches.
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Want a Cybercab? Get ready to wait
I requested my first Cybercab ride from Tesla’s Robotaxi app around 6PM on Friday evening. It’s a good thing I didn’t have anywhere to be. The app listed an hour-plus wait time for a $15 ride under two miles, though the actual wait was about 45 minutes. (The next two wait times were about 40 and 25 minutes, respectively). The car pulled up across the street from my house, flashing under its front bumper to signal it was picking up a passenger.
As someone with a less-than-stellar history with Model Y doors, I was glad the Cybercab instead let users open the butterfly-style doors by tapping a button on the mobile app. A handful of passengers have reported those same doors opening up so quickly that they end up striking them, though I never experienced that issue.
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