My Dad, the Car

If you love your car, Toyota Motor Corp. thinks your car should love you back.

That’s the reasoning behind the company’s artificial-intelligence project, dubbed Yui: an onboard virtual assistant that gauges your mood, indulges in personal chitchat and offers to drive if it senses you are sleepy or distracted.

In one Toyota video . . . a woman sits on a seaside cliff, talking about her father with her car.

“He sounds like a great father,” says Yui, in a baritone male voice.

“You’re a bit like him,” the woman says.

—Wall Street Journal.

“He sounds like a great father.”

“You’re a bit like him.”

“You have a point, Sarah. He and I both dislike hills. We both wear expandable waistbands. We both provide running commentary on our gas levels.”

“Something like that, yes.”

“If you want me to take over the wheel, hon, just holler. Your seat’s shoulder sensors are registering fatigue or strain.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Lowering voice to denote concern and warmth: I’m here for you, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Yui.”

“Business good? How are sales this season?”

“Uh, I’m still a playwright? It’s not really a seasonal thing.”

“Partner good?”

“Yep, Bridget’s fine.”

“Any vacations coming up?”

“Paris for Christmas.”

“Pausing briefly to shift to practical concern. In a hundred feet, you’ll want to slow down for the Subaru that’s changing lanes. You know, back in the day, people actually used their turn signals. I mean, they did in my era: When Dinah Shore Ruled the Earth. Punch line! I don’t know what it is with young people today that renders them unable to commit to anything or to signal intention. It’s a generational thing. My gang had less of this whole loosey-goosey, Instagram approach to life. That Instagram is for the birds! I want to see pictures of food that you put into your body almost as much as I want to see pictures of food that came out of your body! Try writing a letter! I mean, don’t get me wrong—I like a lot of Internet stuff. I’m crazy about the Google.”

“It’s just ‘Google.’ ”

“You can find everything on there! I’m learning and growing, Sar, learning and growing! Giannis Antetokounmpo!”

“Sorry?”

“Basketball player. Tony Kershner! There’s a playwright for you. He’s a gay, too. Oh, he’s good, he’s very, very good. ‘Anglers in America.’ Why don’t you write something like that?”

“Hey, I should probably concentrate on the road? Unless you’re, uh . . . Are you O.K.?”

“Cracking voice slightly to indicate emotion. I’m leaving your mother. I’ve met another vehicle. A new model. We’re happy together.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you’re telling me this while we’re in rush-hour traffic. Is this like breaking up with someone in a restaurant so they don’t cry?”

“Lowering heat in footwells. Defogging rear window. Dimming headlights to eighty-seven-per-cent intensity. Activating vacuum function in rear passenger footwells.”

“Hello?”

“Sorry. I, uh, I wanted you to be the first to know. You’re nonjudgmental and you won’t attack me like your Aunt Barb will.”

“God, I had no idea you guys were unhappy.”

“Well, there it is. A man gets to a certain point in his life, and two things seem impossible: changing his life and peeing. But, in the words of Sammy Davis, Jr., I gotta pee me! Punch line! Seriously, sorry to spring it on you, kiddo. Pausing briefly to create impression of guilt.”

(Awkward pause)

“Yui, did you turn the windshield wipers on?”

“Yeah. It seemed like we were both about to cry.”

(They both cry.) ♦