CyberTruck Owner's Manual - ebook

Contents

1. General Misinformation

Learn how to tell apart a Cybertruck from a large metallic toaster.

Debunking myths like "Is it a spaceship?"

Dubious Vehicle Specifications

The Power of Exaggeration

Size Matters, Or Does It

2.Exterior Illusions and Interior Delusions

It's Not a Tank, It's Just Ugly

The Inside Story: Navigating the labyrinth of an interior

Instruments and Guesswork

Confusing Control Panel Arrangement

The Maze of Buttons

Knobs and Dials Galore

The Single Button of Uncertain Functions

Will it launch the car or just the windscreen wipers?

A game of guessing what the button does each time you press it.

The “What Does This Do?” Holographic Display

Futuristic Confusion

Trying to figure out if it's a map, a movie, or an abstract art piece.

3. Starting and Stopping

The Guessing Game of Engine Ignition

Is today the day it decides to start, or will it just make whirring noises?

The Key to Nowhere

Asphalt Ambiguity vs. Off-Road Roulette

Deciding whether “Sport” mode actually means “Slightly Less Slow.”

Taking bets on whether “Off-Road” mode is actually just “Panic” mode.

Autopilot: Trusting Your Life to Software

A Leap of Faith

The Art of Letting Go

4. Discomfort Systems

Unpredictable Climate Control Shenanigans

The Sauna vs. Arctic Tundra Setting

Guess which vent will actually blow air today!

Seat “Adjustments” via Esoteric Levers

Pull a lever and see what moves - if anything.

Comfort? More Like a Torture Device

Mood Lighting That Reflects Your Disappointment

Discover the lighting that barely illuminates but maximizes despair.

When the lights decide to have a rave without your consent.

5. Entertainment or Lack Thereof

The AM Radio Experience: Static and All

How to find that one station that's not just white noise.

Embracing the static as part of your musical journey.

Pairing Your Device with the Infuriotainment System

Bluetooth or Blue-rage?

The Eternal "Loading" Screen: Patience is a virtue

Navigating the Abyss of the User-Unfriendly Interface

A Maze of Menus: Delve into the labyrinthine interface

The Mystery of the Missing Features

6. "Routine" Maintenance

Realigning the Wheels: A Guide to Guesswork

The Alignment Lottery

When DIY Stands for Destroy It Yourself

Battery Maintenance: A Shocking Surprise

Is your battery charging, or is it just pretending?

Jump-Start Jamboree

Software “Upgrades”: Crossing Your Fingers and Toes

Update or Downgrade

The Eternal Reboot

7. Emergency Pretenses

How to Utilize the Decorative Parachute

Understanding that the parachute is more of a concept than a reality.

False Hopes and Dreams

Deploying the Theoretical Safety Bubble

Discover the safety features that exist only in This manual.

Is it a safety bubble or just a bubble of hot air?

The Ejector Seat: For Exiting Conversations About Mileage

Learning the art of ejecting yourself from tedious talks about fuel efficiency.

Use at Your Own Risk

8. Driver "Aids" and Assumptions

Parking Assistance: The Bumper’s Sacrifice

The Crunching Sound of Assistance

The Art of Guesswork: How to park using your instincts because the sensors are probably wrong.

Hill Start: A Game of Chance

Rolling the Dice: Will you move forward, roll back, or just stay put?

The Thrill of Uncertainty

The Invisibility Cloak: Just Close Your Eyes

Pretending your car can become invisible, because why not?

Exploring the exciting possibility of not seeing things right in front of you.

9. Vehicle Neglect

The Myth of Scratch Removal

Scratches: A Badge of Honor

The Futility of Buffing: Why trying to remove scratches might just give you more.

The Eternal Quest for a Clean Windscreen

Mastering the art of achieving a streak-free windscreen, or at least trying to.

The ongoing battle between your wipers and the elements.

Anti-Rust Coating: Also Known As Mud

Understanding how a layer of mud can be just as effective as any anti-rust coating.

Embrace the Dirt

10. Dubious Upgrades and Custom Jobs

Adding a Spoiler for Absolutely No Reason

The Illusion of Speed: Convincing yourself that a spoiler makes your car go faster.

Style Over Substance

Customizing the Horn to Be Even More Annoying

The Symphony of Irritation

Horn Etiquette, or Lack Thereof

The Ill-advised Nitrous Oxide Button

More Fizz Than Fury

The False Rocket Launch

11. Technical Mysteries

Interpreting Warning Lights as Modern Art

The Dashboard Disco

Warning Lights or Christmas Decorations

The Random Reset: Automotive Roulette

Discovering the joys of your car's systems resetting at the most inopportune moments.

Reset and Hope for the Best

When to Simply Give Up and Call a Tow Truck

The Inevitable Surrender

Tow Truck Tales

12. Warranty Weaseling

Limited Warranty: Very Limited Indeed

Discovering the many, many exclusions of your "comprehensive" warranty.

Warranty or Lottery

Service Schedules: More Like Guidelines

Understanding that service schedules are more suggestions than actual rules.

Learning why putting off service can be a risky game.

Customer “Support”: An Exercise in Patience

Finding inner peace while listening to the same tune for hours on end.

Scripted Responses and Frustration

13. Addendum of Afterthoughts

List of Unusable Tools Included with Your Vehicle

A comprehensive guide to tools that are for display purposes only.

Understanding why the supplied jack doesn’t actually fit your car.

Incomprehensible Software Licensing

Decoding the End User License Agreement, one headache at a time.

Why your car's software thinks it's still living in the 1990s.

How to Lodge a Complaint Into the Void

The Art of Yelling at Clouds

Crafting the Perfect Unread EmailWhen Tesla unveiled the Cybertruck, the world paused, not in awe, but in collective bewilderment. Here we have a vehicle that looks like it was designed using a ruler and a protractor, and with about as much regard for aesthetics as a concrete block. This is the Exterior Illusion – a design so bold, it makes Marmite look universally palatable.

Let's start with the 'armored glass'. The Cybertruck's windows are supposed to be impervious to everything short of a direct hit from a howitzer. However, at the grand unveiling, a simple throw of a metal ball shattered these claims, quite literally. It's like claiming you're bulletproof but ducking when someone throws a croissant at you.

The body of the Cybertruck is made from cold-rolled stainless steel, which is great if you're planning on driving through a hail of gunfire, but not so much if you're just popping down to the shops. It's like wearing a suit of armor to a dinner party – impressive, but entirely unnecessary, and you'll struggle to sit down.

Now, the shape of the Cybertruck is something else. It's all straight lines and sharp angles. It's as if the designers were inspired by a child's drawing of a car, or perhaps a doorstop. This design leads to what I call 'the origami effect' – it looks interesting, but you're not entirely sure it's supposed to be a vehicle.

And then there's the size. The Cybertruck is big. Absurdly big. It's like driving a small bungalow around. You half expect to see a family of four and a Labrador living in the back. Its sheer scale creates an optical illusion; it looks like it's moving slowly, even when it's not, much like a distant airliner.

Moving on to the Interior Delusions. The inside of the Cybertruck is a stark contrast to its exterior. Where the outside is all harsh lines and industrial design, the interior is minimalist to the point of being spartan. It's like walking into a modern art gallery, only to find it's been robbed.

The dashboard is a marvel of simplicity, dominated by a single, giant touchscreen, which controls virtually everything. It's the vehicular equivalent of having a smartphone with only one app. The rest of the dashboard looks like it's been made from leftover marble from a billionaire's kitchen. It's cold, it's hard, and it's about as welcoming as a tax audit.

The seats are another story. They're comfortable enough, but they have the aesthetic appeal of a waiting room in a dentist's office. And there's so much space inside, you could hold a small yoga class. It's like Tesla couldn't decide whether they were designing a car or a studio apartment.

The steering wheel, if we can call it that, looks like it was borrowed from a spaceship. It's a rectangle. A rectangle. It's as if someone looked at a traditional steering wheel and thought, 'Yes, but how can we make this more awkward?'

Then there's the rearview mirror. In a normal car, this is a simple, functional item. In the Cybertruck, it's been replaced by a digital display because, apparently, using a mirror was just too straightforward. It's like using a drone to pass the salt.

And let's not forget the visibility, or lack thereof. The windows are narrow, like firing slits in a medieval castle. This creates a driving experience akin to navigating a tank through a medieval village. You feel safe, but you're not entirely sure what's going on outside.

In summary, the Cybertruck is a study in contradictions. Its exterior is a fortress on wheels, designed to withstand an apocalypse, while its interior is a Zen garden, designed to calm and soothe. It's like a bouncer with a degree in philosophy. The Cybertruck isn't just a vehicle; it's an experience, a statement, a rolling enigma. It's the automotive equivalent of a mullet: business in the front, party in the back, and confusion all around.

It's Not a Tank, It's Just Ugly

When you first lay eyes on the Cybertruck, you might be forgiven for thinking that it was designed during a particularly aggressive game of Pictionary. This is Tesla's unique design philosophy, where brutalism meets confusion in a whirlwind romance. The Cybertruck doesn't just challenge traditional design norms; it takes those norms, ties them to a rocket, and fires them into the sun.

Let's start with the obvious: the Cybertruck looks like a tank that has been on a diet. Its angular, metallic body gives off a vibe that's part military bunker, part futuristic origami project. It's as if someone tried to design a vehicle using only a ruler, and then ran out of ruler. The result is a truck that looks like it's perpetually scowling at the world, as if it's just found out it wasn't invited to the cool cars' party.

The design of the Cybertruck throws caution and aerodynamics to the wind, much like a child throws spaghetti at a wall. It's a blatant disregard for the conventions of automotive design, which typically favors curves and lines that suggest movement and grace. The Cybertruck, in contrast, suggests that movement and grace were invited to the party, but they couldn't find anywhere to park.

The front of the Cybertruck is flat and featureless, like the expression on a bored bodyguard. It's so featureless, in fact, that you wonder if the designers simply forgot to finish it. It's a face only a mother could love, if the mother was a sheet of industrial-grade steel.

Moving to the sides, the Cybertruck continues its theme of 'brutalism meets confusion'. The sharp angles and straight lines are so severe, you could probably use the truck as a geometry teaching aid. It's as if the vehicle is daring you to try and lean casually against it, only to walk away with a collection of acute-angle-shaped bruises.

The rear of the Cybertruck is no less confusing. The sloping rear makes it look like the truck is perpetually trying to back away from its own design. It's as if the back of the truck is embarrassed by the front and is slowly trying to leave the scene.

Now, let's talk about the color, or rather, the lack of it. The Cybertruck comes in any color you want, as long as it's metallic gray. It's like they started to think about paint options and then decided that colors were too mainstream. The result is a vehicle that looks like it's been forged in the heart of a dying star, which is impressive if you're a black hole, less so if you're a pickup truck.

The wheels of the Cybertruck look like they've been stolen from a set of a sci-fi movie where the director was told to 'make it look futuristic, but within budget'. They're big, they're chunky, and they look like they could crush a Prius just by glancing at it.

Inside, the Cybertruck's design philosophy of 'brutalism meets confusion' continues unabated. The interior is so minimalist, it makes a monk's cell look cozy. The dashboard is a barren wasteland of space, interrupted only by a touchscreen that's so large, it might have its own weather system. It's like the designers were told to make the interior 'futuristic' and their only reference was a sci-fi movie from the 1980s.

The seats are utilitarian to a fault. It's as if comfort was a secondary concern to making sure the seats could be hosed down after a particularly messy apocalypse. They're not so much seats as they are slabs of material that have begrudgingly agreed to be sat upon.

The steering wheel, or as I like to call it, the 'steering rectangle', continues the theme. It's as if the designers looked at a traditional steering wheel and thought, 'How can we make this less intuitive and more likely to cause confusion and mild panic?'

In summary, the Cybertruck's design is a bold statement in 'brutalism meets confusion'. It's a vehicle that looks like it was designed for a dystopian future where the only design brief was 'make it look tough, and make sure no one can lean against it comfortably'. It's not a tank, it's just ugly. But it's a special kind of ugly – the kind that's so confident in its own skin, it becomes almost, dare I say, beautiful. Almost.

The Inside Story: Navigating the labyrinth of an interior

When you first clamber into the cavernous expanse of the Cybertruck's interior, you could be forgiven for thinking you've stumbled into an M.C. Escher sketch. There's a sense of disorientation, as if the laws of physics and ergonomics had a mild disagreement. The interior of the Cybertruck doesn't just challenge conventional design; it takes conventional design outside and gives it a good thrashing.

The dashboard, a vast, unadorned slab of material, looms before you like the monolith from "2001: A Space Odyssey". It's so minimalistic, it makes a Zen garden look positively cluttered. You half expect to find a hidden compartment containing the meaning of life, but no, it's just a glovebox, and a rather small one at that.

Then there's the infamous touchscreen, the centerpiece of this futuristic tableau. It's enormous, glaring at you with the cold, unblinking eye of HAL 9000. This screen, your gateway to controlling virtually every aspect of the vehicle, is as user-friendly as a crossword puzzle in Ancient Greek. Adjusting the air conditioning requires a series of swipes and taps that would baffle even a teenager.

The seats, while visually appealing in a Spartan sort of way, have all the ergonomic comfort of a park bench designed by a committee that couldn't agree on what a bench is for. They're angular, firm, and apparently upholstered with a material that was chosen for its ability to survive a nuclear blast rather than for anything as pedestrian as comfort.

Looking up, you'll find the rearview mirror has been replaced by a digital display, because why use a simple mirror when you can have a screen? It's like replacing your bathroom mirror with a tablet; it's impressive technology, but you can't help but feel it's solving a problem that didn't exist.

The steering wheel, or rather, the steering rectangle, defies all conventional wisdom. It suggests that somewhere, in a design meeting, someone said, "You know what's wrong with steering wheels? They're just too wheel-like." It's a bold design choice, and one that makes you feel like you're driving a spaceship rather than a car – a spaceship designed by someone who's never actually driven anything.

As for the window controls and door handles, they're hidden away with the kind of zeal usually reserved for state secrets. Finding them is like playing a game of hide and seek with a particularly petulant child. You know they're there somewhere, but they're not going to make it easy for you.

The pedals are where you expect them to be, which is a relief, but they're about the only thing that meets your expectations. The accelerator feels less like a pedal and more like a suggestion box. You press it and hope the car takes your request under advisement.

The cup holders, an essential feature in any vehicle, appear to have been added as an afterthought. They're awkwardly placed, as if the designers begrudgingly acknowledged that some people might – heaven forbid – want to drink something while driving.

And then there's the space. So much space. The Cybertruck's interior is like a vast, empty warehouse. There's enough room to swing a cat, a dog, and a small pony. You could hold a small dance party in there, or start a new hobby, like indoor archery.

The storage compartments are equally perplexing. They're either cavernous voids where small items disappear forever, or they're so shallow, you wonder why they bothered. It's a bit like having a pocket that can either hold a full-sized umbrella or a single coin, but nothing in between.

In summary, navigating the interior of the Cybertruck is like wandering through an M.C. Escher painting. It's a bewildering array of design choices that challenge your perceptions of what a vehicle interior should be. It's unconventional, confusing, and occasionally frustrating, but it's never, ever boring. The Cybertruck doesn't just transport you physically; it takes you on a wild ride through the outer limits of automotive design, where functionality meets fantasy, and comfort takes a back seat to style. It's an experience, an adventure, and a puzzle all wrapped up in a stainless steel enigma. And like any good puzzle, once you solve it, you can't help but feel a tiny bit smug.

Instruments and Guesswork

Delving into the instruments of the Cybertruck is like trying to understand the control panel of an alien spacecraft. You're not sure whether to be amazed or confused, but you're certainly not going to be bored. The instruments in this rolling steel enigma are a combination of high-tech wizardry and what I can only assume is a practical joke by Tesla's designers.

First, there's the speedometer, or what I like to call the 'guess-o-meter'. It's digital, because of course it is, and it displays your speed with the kind of precision that's only useful if you've never heard of speed limits. The numbers change with such rapidity, it's like they're trying to escape from the screen. You're never entirely sure if you're doing 30 mph or warp speed.

Then there's the battery range indicator. This little readout is more optimistic than a lottery player. The range it displays is a fanciful estimate, like the cooking time on a frozen pizza. It's not what's actually going to happen, it's what Tesla would like to happen under ideal conditions – conditions that I suspect include going downhill, with a tailwind, on a road made of silk.

Let's move on to the touchscreen, the pièce de résistance of the Cybertruck's instruments. This screen is to a regular car's infotainment system what a smartphone is to two tin cans connected by a string. It controls everything – and I mean everything. Want to adjust the mirrors? Use the screen. Change the radio station? Screen. Alter the suspension? Screen. It's like Tesla decided that physical buttons were passé and replaced them with a digital overlord.

The navigation system deserves a special mention. It's like having a mildly confused but well-meaning friend who's read a map once. The directions are generally in the ballpark of where you want to go, but you can't shake the feeling that the system is just guessing and hoping for the best. It's the digital equivalent of a shrug.

And then there's Autopilot, Tesla's semi-autonomous driving system. Calling it 'Autopilot' is a bit like calling a dog's lead a 'self-walking kit'. Yes, it can steer, accelerate, and brake on its own, but it requires the same level of trust and vigilance as leaving a toddler with a paintbrush in a white room.

The climate control system is another marvel of guesswork. Adjusting the temperature is like playing a slot machine; you might get what you want, but more likely, you'll just keep trying until you give up. The air vents are hidden, which adds to the minimalist aesthetic, but also means that finding where the air is coming from is like playing a game of thermal hide and seek.

The audio system, meanwhile, is fantastic. It's like having a symphony orchestra in your car, if the orchestra was occasionally interrupted by a DJ who only plays techno. Adjusting the sound settings requires a degree in acoustics and the patience of a saint.

Now, about the vehicle settings. The Cybertruck offers a range of driving modes, from 'Eco' to 'Ludicrous'. Choosing a driving mode is like choosing a mood for your truck. 'Eco' is the Cybertruck trying to be frugal and sensible, like a sumo wrestler deciding to take up ballet. 'Ludicrous', on the other hand, is pure, unadulterated madness, like strapping a rocket to a roller skate.

The rearview camera is a blessing, given that looking out the back of the Cybertruck is like trying to peer through a keyhole. But relying on it is like relying on a periscope in a submarine; it shows you what's happening, but you're never quite sure if it's the whole picture.

Finally, we have the various warning lights and messages that pop up on the dashboard. These range from the mundane – 'Door Open' – to the cryptic – 'Reduced Power Mode'. Deciphering these messages requires a combination of intuition, guesswork, and a willingness to consult This manual, which is, of course, also on the touchscreen.

In summary, the instruments of the Cybertruck are a blend of high-tech sophistication and bewildering guesswork. They provide you with all the information you need, and a lot that you don't, in a format that's as intuitive as a Rubik's Cube. It's an exercise in technological overkill, like using a chainsaw to cut a cake – impressive, but probably more than was strictly necessary.

Confusing Control Panel Arrangement

Welcome to the befuddling world of the Cybertruck's control panel, a place where logic takes a backseat and confusion reigns supreme. Tesla, in their infinite wisdom, have decided that the traditional control panel layout is outdated, much like my wardrobe according to my daughter. Instead, they've created a control panel that resembles the cockpit of a spacecraft more than something you'd find in a vehicle meant for terrestrial travel.

First, there's the steering wheel, or as I like to call it, the steering rectangle. This geometric oddity looks like it was inspired by a video game console rather than anything you'd expect to find in an automobile. It's as if Elon Musk asked a five-year-old to draw a steering wheel and then thought, "Yes, that'll do nicely." Using this rectangle to actually steer the vehicle is an experience akin to trying to play a piano while wearing boxing gloves - it can be done, but it's not pretty.

Then, you have the massive central touchscreen, the crowning glory of the control panel. This thing is so big, you half expect it to have its own gravitational pull. It controls nearly every aspect of the vehicle, from the climate control to the suspension settings. Navigating through its menus is like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube blindfolded. You know there's a logical way to do it, but that doesn't make it any less infuriating.

The touchscreen's user interface appears to have been designed by someone who thought that minimalism meant removing all helpful cues. Finding the option you need is like playing a game of digital Whack-a-Mole. Just when you think you've found the right menu, it disappears, replaced by something entirely unrelated.

Below the touchscreen, you'll find a sparse array of physical buttons. These buttons are so flush with the surface and unobtrusively designed, you might not even realize they're there. It's like Tesla took the concept of 'sleek design' and ran with it, straight over a cliff. When you do finally locate these elusive buttons, pressing them provides all the tactile satisfaction of poking a ghost.

The indicators and wiper controls have been integrated into the steering rectangle, because why have a simple stalk when you can add more complexity? Using them involves a series of taps and swipes, making you long for the days when a simple flick of the wrist was all that was needed. It's as intuitive as trying to thread a needle while riding a unicycle.

The gear selector, a critical component in any vehicle, is a small, nondescript lever attached to the steering column. It's so unremarkable, you might mistake it for an afterthought. Selecting your desired gear involves a delicate touch, as the difference between 'Drive' and 'Reverse' is a matter of millimeters. It's the automotive equivalent of performing keyhole surgery with a pair of garden shears.

Then there's the volume control, which for some unfathomable reason, is also integrated into the steering rectangle. Adjusting the volume involves a dance of taps and swipes that makes you feel like you're trying to crack a safe rather than simply turning up the radio. It's a task that requires the precision of a bomb disposal expert and the patience of a saint.