The Cybertruck Just Rolled Into My Neighborhood, and I Think I Hate It

There’s a Cybertruck parked down the street. Every time I see it, I feel something deep inside me—a blend of confusion, irritation, and mild existential dread. Do I hate it? I think I do. But also... maybe not? Let me explain.

First of all, the Cybertruck is impossible to miss. It’s like if Minecraft had a midlife crisis and decided to build a truck. Every sharp angle screams, “I don’t care about your feelings or wind resistance!” It’s futuristic, sure—but also kind of terrifying. It doesn’t just roll down the street; it looms.

And let’s be real: this thing looks like it belongs in a post-apocalyptic movie where the protagonist siphons gas while outrunning robot overlords. But here it is, parked between a Subaru Outback and a very confused-looking minivan.

The Cybertruck by the Numbers

If there’s one thing I can’t deny, it’s that Tesla’s Cybertruck is a powerhouse on paper:

• Towing Capacity: A staggering 14,000 pounds. That’s like towing two full-grown elephants—or all your regrets about how much you spent on the Cybertruck.
• Range: Over 500 miles for the tri-motor version. That’s enough to road trip across several states without needing a charge.
• Zero-to-Sixty: As fast as 2.9 seconds. For comparison, that’s faster than a Porsche 911.

And it’s not just the numbers. The truck is built out of ultra-hard stainless steel—officially called “30X cold-rolled stainless steel,” which sounds like something Tony Stark would use. It’s also designed to be “bulletproof,” though we all remember the viral moment during its debut when Elon Musk smashed its window with a steel ball. (Still hilarious. Sorry, Elon.)

Tesla has reported that over 1.9 million pre-orders have been placed for the Cybertruck since its 2019 reveal. That’s nearly the population of Houston, all waiting to drive what looks like a Blade Runner set piece. Clearly, there’s demand.

Why Does It Bother Me So Much?

I think it’s because the Cybertruck isn’t just a truck—it’s a statement. Owning one says, “I’m not like the other dads; I’m a cool dad who built this in a secret lab.” It’s more than transportation—it’s a personality. And it’s loud. Really loud. (Figuratively speaking, of course—it’s electric.)

Here’s a fun fact: the Cybertruck’s design was inspired by sci-fi movies like Blade Runner and The Spy Who Loved Me. Musk himself has said that he wanted something that looked like “it came from the future.” Mission accomplished. It’s bold, weird, and a little bit unnerving.

Sure, I can respect the technology, the audacity, even the environmental benefits. But does it have to look like it was designed by someone who lost a bet?

It’s as if Elon Musk asked, “What if we made a DeLorean on steroids, but less sexy?”

And someone actually said yes.

A Win for Sustainability (Kind Of)

On a serious note, the Cybertruck is a step forward for sustainability in the truck market. Trucks are traditionally seen as gas-guzzlers, but Tesla has flipped the script by offering an all-electric alternative. According to the International Energy Agency, transportation accounts for nearly 24% of global CO2 emissions, and trucks make up a significant portion of that.

If the Cybertruck succeeds, it could pave the way for a future where heavy-duty vehicles are cleaner, quieter, and more efficient. That’s a good thing—if we can get past the part where it looks like it’s here to overthrow humanity.

Maybe It’s Not About the Cybertruck

Here’s the thing: maybe my issue isn’t with the Cybertruck itself. Maybe it’s about what it represents—change, disruption, and the end of “normal” trucks as we know them. It’s a reminder that the future isn’t subtle. It’s big, weird, and parked right in front of us, daring us to react.

And boy, am I reacting.

So, Do I Hate It?

Yes. No. Maybe? I’m honestly not sure. On one hand, it’s an engineering marvel—sustainable, innovative, and undeniably bold. On the other hand, it looks like a rejected villain from Transformers.

But maybe that’s the whole point. The Cybertruck doesn’t want to be liked. It wants to be noticed, debated, and remembered. It’s a symbol of where we’re headed: a world where even the humble truck is reinvented into something divisive, unignorable, and strangely futuristic.

And that’s the part that sticks with me. It’s not just a truck; it’s a question. Are we ready for what’s next, or are we still clinging to what we know?

The Cybertruck parked down the street doesn’t just make me wonder how I feel about it—it makes me wonder how I feel about everything. And maybe that’s why I can’t stop staring.