New York City Besieged: The Cybertruck Takes Over
Last November, a strange apparition surfaced outside Lincoln Center: a hulking, futuristic Cybertruck, seemingly beamed from a distant sci-fi world. It was, perhaps innocently, there for a gathering of "like-minded individuals" eager to "take their investment knowledge" to a higher level. But that lone truck was just the beginning.
Spring arrived, and with it, a wave of Cybertrucks flooded the city’s streets. Initially, the sight elicited novelty – “Pretty sweet to see in person,” a Reddit user commented after spotting one parked in the city. But the novelty soon gave way to something more unsettling. "Why are there so many Cybertrucks everywhere all of a sudden?" a friend texted, mirroring the growing unease.
People started mapping their encounters, sharing photos of these chrome leviathans appearing in unexpected places: Soho, Barclays Center, Long Island City.
There was the Layers Bakeshop Cybertruck, a Bushwick Cybertruck (not to be confused with the other Bushwick Cybertruck), even one parked outside Bingo Heating and Cooling. One scarred Cybertruck, sporting South Dakota plates, racked up parking tickets by theChrystie Street stop like trophies.
In a city dominated by cramped streets and concrete canyons, the 7,000-pound Cybertruck, with its sharp angles and tank-like silhouette, stuck out like a futuristic sore thumb. New Yorkers, already battling for limited street space, began to feel like the city itself was under siege.
The tension escalated. These ostentatious vehicles, driven by people who seemingly scoffed at public transit, embodied the divide between drivers and non-drivers in a city that loves to walk—and walk fast.
“Doesn’t ride the subway,” "rich, entitled, MAGA-pilled"—the speculation surrounding Cybertruck drivers festered anonymously online.
Photos of Cybertrucks double-parked on sidewalks, blocking bike lanes emerged on social media. One Cybertruck, sporting a fake chaplain’s placard, was condemned as a "cyberschmuck" after illegally parking in a bike lane. Within three months, its owner had amassed 31 violations. Road rage, allegedly instigated by a Cybertruck driver brandishing a gun after a dispute on Central Park South, further solidified the city’s growing unease.
Cybertruck owners, meanwhile, claimed they were being targeted. Were the increasingly hostile encounters a spillover from national divisions?
On Election Day, one Cybertruck owner parked in front of Trump Tower, allowing pro-Trump graffiti to be splashed across its chrome surfaces. He claimed he’d driven the truck cross-country. Later, the graffiti-covered vehicle mysteriously landed in a Hell’s Kitchen tow pound.
By mid-November, another owner took to a “Cybertruck Owners Only” Facebook group to complain that Manhattan parking garages were refusing to accommodate him, citing insurance liability issues. Theories abounded: "Could it be a silent boycott due to Elon’s backing of our president-elect?"
For now, the Cybertrucks – like the more conventional Volvos and beat-up Kias – seem to have won the battle for the city’s streets. But for those who look beyond their sleek, futuristic veneer, there’s a sense that the city itself is undergoing a strange invasion. At least, for now, there’s still a reason to keep fingers away from the sharp edges.
