I’ve been driving a truck for 23 years. Cross-country hauls, overnight runs, icy mountain passes—you name it, I’ve done it. My rig’s been my livelihood, my home on wheels, and sometimes my best friend on lonely highways. But lately, when I’m out on I-80 or rolling through Texas, I see something that makes my stomach knot: trucks with no one behind the wheel.
They call it “autonomous driving.” I call it a slow death sentence for people like me.
The first time I saw one, I thought it was some kind of test vehicle. Then I started reading the headlines—big tech companies partnering with logistics giants, promising safer, faster, cheaper deliveries. They show glossy videos of sleek rigs gliding down perfect roads, sensors spinning, no tired drivers, no rest stops. It’s all about “efficiency.”
Here’s the thing those press releases don’t mention: that “efficiency” comes at a human cost. For guys like me, it’s our jobs. Our paychecks. Our ability to feed our families. You replace the driver with a computer, and I’m just another number on an unemployment line.
I get it—technology moves forward. They said the same thing when factories went to machines, when self-checkouts replaced cashiers. But driving a truck isn’t just about holding a steering wheel. It’s about judgment. Reading the weather. Sensing when another driver’s about to do something stupid. Knowing when to push through and when to pull over. You can’t teach a machine instinct.
And what happens when something goes wrong? A sensor fails. A deer jumps out. A kid runs into the street. Right now, it’s me making the split-second call that could save a life. In an autonomous truck? It’s an algorithm. I don’t care how smart they say it is—computers don’t panic right, and sometimes panic is what saves you.
I’m not blind. I know this is coming whether I like it or not. The suits see the cost savings. The tech guys see the challenge. And the rest of us? We’re the collateral damage.
I still take pride in what I do. I deliver the goods that keep shelves stocked, hospitals running, and homes warm. I know every bump in some of these highways like the lines in my hands. But every time I see one of those driverless rigs cruising by, I wonder how much longer I’ll be part of the picture.
Progress is fine. But if the future doesn’t have room for people like me, I’m not sure it’s a future I’m excited to drive into.
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