She lives a truly odd existence, and seems to think her experience is similar to everyone else... She doesn't know the name or recognize the face of the barista at her coffee shop? Or the cashier at her grocery store? Or the staff at her favorite restaurant? I have no evidence for this other than her words, but guess is that Jane Jacobs' Uber bill - mostly Uber Eats - is astronomical every month, and she lives a life where her much-loved butlers and staff of the 1880's rich white person experience are now staffed with gig workers delivering her everything she needs. What an odd article, really.... I mean, if I read this as the opening of a novel about a fictional person, I'd see it as something like the Great Gatsby; a person completely cocooned in a cloak of rich velvet privilege, who has no contact with anyone outside their echelon and believes their life is "normal". Her ivory tower is so tall she can't see below the cloud layer...