c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(4-25)
Naylon Pugh was young, lanky, willfully geeked-out, and covered with gaming tattoos. His yellow hair stood on end, while sitting at a computer in the Tesla dealership, located by Lake Erie. When this brand first arrived in northeastern Ohio, it had been welcomed by progressive thinkers who were mindful of having electric vehicles with zero tailpipe emissions, available in their market. But now, the connection between Elon Musk and President Donald J. Trump had stalled this trend, and soured fans. He shivered while watching a YouTube clip posted by ABC News, regarding the sales collapse.
“Tesla’s profits fell 71% over the first three months of this year, a company earnings release on Tuesday showed. The company’s performance fell short of analysts’ expectations. Total revenue decreased by 9% from one year earlier, to $19.3 billion, while revenue derived from car sales plunged 20% over the first three months of 2025 compared to a year ago, the earnings showed. The new financial details arrive as some shareholders have called on Musk – whose temporary status as a government employee expires next month – to step down from his White House role and return full-time to the helm of Tesla...”
The professional nerd and sales representative nearly toppled his tumbler of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, after hearing this negative report.
“Sole, did you catch any of that? We’re a sinking ship! Get out the life jackets!”
Solomon Fortuna was in his corner office with the door standing ajar. He had sorted through virtual files throughout the morning, looking for evidence to counter their woeful predicament. But upon being distracted, he turned in his chair, and gestured toward the hallway between both workspaces.
“Nay, come here dude! Check this shit out! Our sales in Geauga County are up 1000% YTD!”
His tattooed cohort frowned and whined while leaving his own desk.
“Didn’t you hear me? We’re going under water! Elon has sunk our business!”
His company partner signified disagreement, while adjusting the iMac monitor for a better view.
“You’re a nervous nebbish, bruh! We’re golden right now, trust me! It’s a shift in sales trends, that’s all. One group is getting off the wagon, and another is hopping on, to ride. No biggie! Either way we’ll clean up at the bank...”
Naylon scratched wisps of beard stubble on his pointed chin.
“How can you take such bad news with a smile? C’mon man, pay attention! We’re screwed!”
Solomon made a rude noise that mimicked flatulence. He was better groomed than his partner, and more at ease with day-to-day operations.
“This is a temporary fluctuation. Call it a strategic adjustment. Do you care who buys our products? Of course you don’t. See, at first we were catering to the big thinkers, people concerned with climate change and all of that lofty stuff. But actually, Elon was right on target with the Cybertruck, for Midwestern customers. They stand out from the crowd, but also give owners a sense of having bigger balls. That’s why they buy those things, anyway! If you drive an F-150 or Silverado or Ram, maybe even a Toyota Tundra, it’s just like having no face. You’re anonymous. Bland and boring. And having nothing in your pants! But in the rig from Tesla, it’s stones-out all the way! Big and bold, and brassy! All we have to do is change our sales pitch!”
His pale friend was shocked by this use of colorful terminology.
“What about women who want a Tesla? How does that get their attention?”
The dealership manager snorted and shook his head.
“You’re always trying to find an argument to make! Look, the ladies out here are cowgirls at heart, they like to line dance and smoke cigarettes, or drink vodka, and stir up trouble sometimes. Sitting at the wheel of a Cybertruck means empowerment. It means freedom. It means... more selling for us and money in the till!”
Naylon realized that his small, square eyeglasses had fogged. He had to wipe them with a Taco Bell napkin.
“Sole, you’re chill as fuck about this! Damn, I wish that I had your confidence.”
Solomon shrugged and laughed out loud.
“Ride the wave, bruh! That’s how you stay on top of the water. When one side is in charge, we play the correctness game and count our money. When the other side takes over, we benefit from the pseudo-patriotic fervor. It’s all good! Whatever gets us paid!”
His inked-up pal scrolled through stories on the computer screen.
“But check these out, they’re all real incidents. Cars set on fire, protests, windows smashed, spray-paint graffiti, it’s turned crazy since Elon started messing with the DOGE project! People are pissed off! We’ve been lucky not to get hit!”
His tag-team opposite nodded and placed both hands flat on the desktop.
“There’s a storm brewing, you nailed it. But folks here in Ohio interpret that differently from New York or California. I never saw a Confederate flag on a Cybertruck, until we started delivering purchases to that trailer park in Thompson Township. It’s a different lifestyle from the college crowd here in Cleveland. None of them could afford a Tesla before the VMS plan. But now, they’ve gotten hooked up! They’re plugged in and ready to ride! They’ve been liberated from bad-credit hell!”
Naylon slumped over his workspace. He felt slightly nauseous.
“Kids from Cleveland State are calling them ‘Swasticars.’ That just rattles me, dude! I don’t want to sell something with a nickname like that! It’s evil!”
Solomon brushed lint from his uniform polo shirt.
“You know what’s evil, man? Being a broke-ass loser is evil! Having your bank account empty is evil! Having to go on unemployment is evil. I like winning at the game! That means selling cars to whoever wants to buy! I don’t give a damn if they are gay, straight, left, right, up, down, or totally indifferent! Get them financed and out the door! We’ve got a company to save! And bonuses to earn! Like Stone Cold Steve Austin used to say, ‘That’s the bottom line!’”
His junior partner had heard enough. He switched off the iMac and leaned backward in the office chair.
“I give up. You win, Sole! I’m on the team. Wherever this goes, I’ll be there!”
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