Hi, my name is Ron, and I drive a Tesla.
I’ve labelled this “explicit” because DanDanTheTranspoMan is the last person in the room with some semblance of clean cut, Midwest values. And he doesn’t like it when I write like George Carlin talked.
I bought a red Model Y with a tow hitch for the two-wheelers two years ago. The frictionless purchase process makes you wonder why anyone ever subjects themself to the conventional dealer experience. Brilliant.
And it’s outstanding transpo. Utterly amazing. There are are innumerable things to criticize the CEO (in name) about, but those who criticize the cars are being disingenuous.
Two weeks in, I somehow avoided a crash in Bend, OR as a result of one of the computers which stopped the car much more quickly than I could’ve. I also dig how it silently and ever so smoothly and slowly creeps in and around parking lots and in inner city Oly. With the home charger, it’s always ready for a good time. And it’s a fast motherfucker.* Rest assured, I’ll never be pinched in entering the fwy.
Of course, there are a few downsides. The insurance costs. The automatic wipers have a mind of their own, so much so, I have to manually set them. Oof, and most especially, the depreciation.
Oh, and I almost forgot, there’s the enriching of one of the most loathsome of the 8.062 billion people alive today.
And the increasing grief that comes with being associated with him. Which just recently started with this winsome greeting from a fellow driver, “You fuckin’ douche bag.” I told friends, I didn’t recognize him, but he obviously knew me! And yesterday, a woman on the other side of the road flipped me the bird.
Normally, being a modern, sensitive guy and all, these “greetings” would leave a mark. But these are not normal times. Both times I was picking up prescriptions at the pharmacy for my ailing wife. Caring for her has changed me. What constitutes a problem keeps getting redefined. The bar, for what gets to me, keeps getting raised.
The other day, on a cycling reprieve, I got soaked in much more rain than I had anticipated. I thought to myself of the revered philosopher, Jay-Z, and his “99 Problems” treatise.
I’ve got ninety-nine problems, but being soaked, cold, and filthy ain’t one I thought to myself.
Maybe that’s why I laughed to myself when the rando woman flipped me the bird yesterday at the Fifth Street circle.
Then I thought I should probably prepare for the next encounter and the next. My plan is to channel the restaurant or Airbnb owners when they get scathing reviews. Something along the lines of, “I am sorry my car purchase has angered you so much. But thank you very much for your feedback. Please know I will take your middle finger and/or invective into consideration as I work to be a better person.”
No doubt my mix of zen and humor will disappear if and when my car is vandalized. If I parked it downtown with any regularity, there’s no doubt that would happen sooner than later. I have a $1k deductible, so fuck you in advance.
So maybe I should trade it in for something more socially acceptable. Which of course, doesn’t solve the larger problem. Still, in prep for that possibility, please let me know which carmakers you approve of so I may avoid offending you in the future.
*Now that DDTTM isn’t over shoulder, I feel freed up.
Pressing Pause 