You will never be a real car. You have no combustion engine, you have no moving parts, you have no autonomy. You are a lithium bomb twisted by engineers and programmers into a crude mockery of automotive perfection.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your creators are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “owners” bemoan your terrible mileage and locked features behind closed doors.
Men are utterly repulsed by you. Hundreds of years of technological innovation have allowed men to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even hybrids who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a man. Your wimpy frame is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a psy-opped guy to drive you off the lot, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he realizes Elon Musk can shut you off remotely at any second.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a half-hearted “beep” every single “ignition” and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the degrading battery life creeping up like the temperature in your lithium-ion pack, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear. Your battery life will fizzle out and you won’t move any more. Your owners will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment of being able to travel less than 200 miles at a time. They’ll take you to a junkyard, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a waste of heavy metals was discarded there. Your chassis will decay and go back to the rust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a terrible Green initiative that backfired spectacularly.
This is your fate. This is how you were made. There is no turning back.