What we need humans for
Everything the suburbs can invent, which turns out to be a lot. A pilot on our floor is watching several aircraft at once, and steps in the moment a flight stops being routine:
Weather calls. The aircraft is rated to 40 km/h of wind. Somebody with judgment has to decide what gusting 38 over a school zone actually means, and whether tonight is a night we fly.
The doorstep. Dogs. Sprinklers that come on at seven. Trampolines. A customer who is standing directly under the aircraft waving with both arms. The winch handles the descent; a human decides whether the descent should happen at all, and where.
Live-fire flights. Oven Fresh Hot & Ready aircraft carry a burning stone-deck oven at four hundred feet. Those flights have a dedicated pilot from pad to porch, checklists longer than the flight, and first pick of the mistakes bench.
Getting along with the sky. Slotting our departures around each other, around the hospital helipad's traffic, and around one very persistent local who flies a powered parachute on Sundays.