I didn’t think letting go of my Tesla would feel like dumping someone who still crushes Instagram. But here we are. In the drizzle. Me holding a clipboard. The car looking smug in silence.
It started with guilt. Not eco-guilt. Money guilt. Only Used Tesla Like when you realize your side project bleeds cash. Insurance crept higher. Tires? Pricier than two weeks in Bali. And don’t get me started on that expensive repair after a door ding in a parking lot. “Sorry!” they yelled, already halfway to the kale. No insurance claim. Just pain.
I love the tech. The silence. The way it gets smarter while I sleep. One night it just… got better. Added a new feature. Felt like holiday magic. But after three years, the magic dulled. Now it just feels like a very costly rolling gadget.
So I typed “sell my Tesla” into Google. Big mistake. First result? Tesla’s official portal. Filled it out. Took snaps. Waited. Got an offer. Cackled. Then checked my bank account. Then laughed like a maniac. They offered a number lower than a 1999 Corolla with peeling paint. Seriously. I could’ve found a lawnmower worth more.
Fine. DIY it is.
Listed it on Reddit. Communities where tire wear is discussed like fine wine. Title: “Tesla Model 3 LR – Sharp, Silent, Obsessed With Its Own Software.” Added pics. One of the dash. One of the car under streetlights. Looked mysterious. Or like it was hiding something.
Messages poured in.
“Can I pay in Fortnite skins?”
“Does it come with free Supercharging forever?” (Spoiler: no. Forever was discontinued years ago).
“My wife says it looks like a spaceship. Can we test drive during a thunderstorm?”
One guy showed up in flip-flops with socks. Carried a infrared gun. Checked the battery pack like he was hunting ghosts. Said, “Thermal variance is acceptable.” Then offered a lowball. “Market’s soft,” he said. “Too many Teslas flooding the street.” Drove off in a Prius. I felt betrayed.
Then came Sofia. Calm. Prepared. Brought her mechanic. Not a favor. A paid pro. He scanned battery logs. Nodded at the screen. “Battery health 91.4%. Good bones.” She asked if I’d ever taken it to the track. I hadn’t. Too sensible. We negotiated. Smooth. No drama. Signed papers in a coffee place. She paid immediately. I revoked my key fob. Car made a final tone. Final.
Walked home. Took the bus next day. Chaotic. Messy. Full of strangers with smells. Miss the silence? Sometimes. Mostly miss the autopilot in traffic. And the fact that it never needed maintenance like a gas car.
But hey—now I’ve got funds. Enough for a motorcycle. Or vacation. Either works.