Reaching one hand back to grab my rucksack provided me psychological reassurance that the package inside was still safe. I rose carefully to my feet and, grabbing my shoulder straps, pushed on across the southernmost tip of the island, parallel to—and now twice as far from—the cliff edge. I guess I wasn’t that foolhardy after all.

I had checked the forecast beforehand of course; my mistake was in not checking three. It’s rare, but not impossible, that a gale develops without your chosen weather source knowing about it. Furthermore, we all know of locations resistant to human prediction of atmospheric changes. The Aran island of Inishmaan is one of them. This was unfortunate, I thought, as I glanced at the sky.

They call it a thunderhead. A towering flat-topped mass that seemed to be fashioning an anvil for the God of Thunder to bring his hammer crashing down onto. It had to have rebuilt itself in tandem with every step I took along the stark plateau, because I swear it was nothing but a harmless fluffy thing half an hour earlier. Of course, it was mirroring my progression precisely, clearly heading directly to my destination. The cloud was that massive it eclipsed the setting sun, so darkness dropped in twice as fast.

My calculations told me I had roughly two kilometres to go, which would feel like four if the wind didn’t ease up. The package wasn’t that heavy, but the belligerent bluster made my rucksack feel like a small boy had stowed away in it. I yanked back the sleeve of my rugged olive parka checking the outsized display on my wrist.

Five sixteen. Nineteen minutes to the deadline.

Nineteen. I had five times that before my bicycle chain snapped halfway along the planned route. I was forced to ditch the bike and divert off the path (too long to walk), resorting to clambering over dozens of the island’s famous dry-stacked stone walls to implement a ‘short’ cut. Not so bad in essence, except for the wind.

Although I was focussed on each hard-earned step, I still noticed the first flashes of lightning in the west out of the corner of my eye. The last lumens of light soon capitulated to darkness, as the atmospheric beast above subdued the entire western panorama above the ocean. Inter-cloud flashes sparked, and jagged arms of light stabbed the ocean.

I didn’t care about the rain—my trusty parka was impenetrable—but even if you’d cut me in half at the waist I’d still be the tallest object for kilometres around. Not the best attribute in a thunderstorm. I felt certain I’d reach the drop point in plenty time to shelter, but I still pressed forward even harder against the wind. I’d run if that wouldn’t have made it easier for me to get dashed across the plateau again.

With the lashing Atlantic to my left I descended towards the shore on a mix of the odd stepped slabs of rock and finely rubbled slopes. That meant my foot placement had to be extra strategic; a twisted ankle would be a severe setback. I reached behind and plucked my flashlight out of my rucksack’s side pocket, directing the circle of light to the ground.

The cloud was invisible now except for bursts of diffuse light and sporadic vein-like extensions thrusting downwards. Lackadaisical cracks and rumbles eventually followed.

At the twist of my wrist a low energy blue hue lit up.

Five thirty-six. Nine minutes to delivery time. Still no sign of life.

I had descended to a point where the cliffs could no longer be called cliffs, drawn to some huge object emerging out of the dark up ahead. It seemed to be down nearer the shore and it swamped me with relief like a friend among strangers. It had to be the drop point. There was nothing else for as far as I could see and I knew the directions pointed to somewhere nearby, right on the coastline. I presumed it was some sort of building, hoped so at least—but then, there were no lights. My flashlight wasn’t powerful enough to illuminate anything yet.

As I marched towards it, I considered the strangeness of the job. Normally, extensive instructions were a requirement for a Red Level delivery, but the client—a Dr. Duggan—convinced our order confirmation team that industrial espionage was a real threat. He had sent a paper map by courier asking us not to copy it. I then had to memorise the location. The only other info I got from Matt at dispatch was that the sender was NASA, which we chuckled at.

Tastable brine mingled with the faintly scorched air. I was almost at the low rocky shore and the dark structure. I raised the flashlight’s beam but I was still a little too far away. I grabbed my shoulder straps and risked running, making up a few seconds. Clipped strides, heels dug extra hard into the ground. I skidded to a standstill within five metres, the rocks crunching and grating beneath my feet. I felt instantly doubled in weight by what I saw—the ‘building’ was in fact a huge shipwreck.

Time check: five forty. In five minutes the deadline would be up, and I couldn’t see any other lights or structures up or down the dark shore.

I was about to fail for the first time ever.

“Dammit. DAMMIT!”

It was no longer about my unblemished record though. I didn’t know what I was carrying, but eighty-two percent of the time a Red Level package meant a life or death situation. I’d never missed one of any level before, not an Orange nor a Yellow. I could blame it on the lack of info, but that didn’t make me feel any better—especially with the recipient being a doctor.

Rain dumped instantly, setting off a metallic pattering on the wreck. I felt the pulse in my neck joining in, battering my jugular. It increased when I heard—

“Are ye planning to just stand there the whole night, Lad?”

I spun around so fast I thought my rucksack would rip off its shoulder straps and slam the stowaway to the boulders. The voice had an echo, so I knew it must have come from inside the wreck.

“Dr. Duggan?”

“We can take care of introductions later. Get in here, would ye?”

I was flustered, but I felt like I’d just resumed breathing after holding my breath for half an hour. I still couldn’t see anyone though, every hole into the hull only pointed to darkness.

“Is that wise? I mean, there’s a vicious storm coming.”

“Is that what all the racket out there’s about? I always knew my doctorate in atmospheric physics was a waste o’ time.”

“Sorry. It’s just…”

“Trust me, Lad. The safest place to be is inside this rust bucket.”

Before I could protest further, a loud SPAKT! sounded, along with a prolonged fizzle on the other side of the ship. It came with a brief flash of light and a dump of rain. The light blazed through half of the rust holes in front of me as if the man had let off a flash-bang grenade inside the wreck. I tried to move, but logic wouldn’t allow it.

This doesn’t make sense!

“Ye don’t want to be outside this ship when the next bolt strikes,” he bellowed, having to do so due to the increasing white noise.

“Where do I enter?” I yelled.

“There’s a hole around port side. Hurry!”

The rain doubled. I pulled my hood up and crouched as I made for the other side of the wreck, as if that would keep me drier. My foot slipped on one of the hundreds of boulders the size of a curled up Labrador that were gathered around the ship.

Another flash, then a boom of thunder that rattled my ribcage, convincing me it would dislodge the seemingly precariously balanced vessel. The wind yanked my hood off; I wrenched it back on again. Rain sliced through the air like rapid repeating guillotines. Boulders shifted or popped away altogether underfoot making me fall shoulder first against the hull more than once.

I slipped through the largest rusted-through hole on the port side. Turning the flashlight on the interior showed it to be an indescribable mess of rusted metal in every shape and size you could imagine. My skin tingled unpleasantly at the idea of tetanus, nostrils overwhelmed by what felt like atomised rust scouring my windpipe.

“Over here.”

I flipped the light in the direction of the voice and was struck with something entirely opposite to the corroded catastrophe to my right. My mouth hung agape taking in lungfuls of ferrous air.

It was a huge black orb formed of hundreds of geometrically perfect black triangular panels that resembled plectrums for massive guitars. The structure hinted at NASA-level precision, materials and form, yanking my eyebrows up at the realisation of what I was carrying. It was suspended by more than twenty cables secured to various parts of the hull’s interior, and that interior had clearly been reinforced. A bearded and bespectacled man was standing at the open door that a short set of steps led up to.

“Dr Duggan?”

“The same.”

Although I had no idea what the orb or its capabilities were, I quickly concluded that this was why he considered it safer inside the ship, because we wouldn’t technically be inside the ship. We’d be protected by an enclosure designed by the same organisation that repeatedly and safely sends humans to space and back.

“We really don’t have time, Lad. If ye’re going to be struck by amazement come do it inside, rather than being struck by lightning outside.”

I swiftly navigated rusted bars and jutting panels. At the foot of the steps, I pulled my sleeve back, tapped the blue screen of my console and held it out toward him. He rested an index finger on it. The blue turned green and beeped.

I climbed into the orb.

*

Now I was in it I could see it was actually a capsule, not an orb, stretching into the bow of the carcass. The walls and furniture were moulded plastic, all cream and curves with fitted purple cushions. One side of the space was where he slept and ate, lit a faint red. The other side was dominated by a blue-green tinge emanating from dozing laptop screens and other displays and devices I’d never seen before. One green display read, ‘17.2 Kj’.

While I shrugged off my rucksack, the Doctor pulled the steps up the same way you would those of a Lear jet, until they were hanging upside down on the inside of the closed door. He flicked some catches which released the steps from the door entirely. He flicked some more and like magic they transformed into a stepladder. I shook my head and smiled—NASA.

I handed him the cardboard package. It was roughly the size and weight of two encyclopaedias side-by-side. He ripped it open with some urgency then pulled out a triangular object—one that resembled a large plectrum.

“What a sight for sore eyes!” And he smooched it.

Dr. Duggan placed the triangular tile on the top of the stepladder, then climbed up. He reached for the ceiling, opening a hatch I hadn’t noticed was there. I also hadn’t noticed how soundproofed the space was until then—thunder boomed in as if the entire storm had been waiting to squeeze in through the hatch and wreak havoc. He climbed until I could only see his legs, taking the tile up with him.

After a few seconds he cried, “Dammit!”

“Can I help?”

“No ye’re alright, Lad. It’s just…I’ve only got two and a half minutes or so before the ship’s struck by lightning, and these screws are finicky as all hell.”

I frowned and wanted to ask if he was joking. But I’d barely completed the thought before he dropped in the replaced panel, which hit the floor with a thud. It was cracked almost right across. He stepped down, hastily pulling shut the hatch above him and fumbling with the catch.

“Phew! Cut it close there!” I didn’t know who he was referring to.

He checked his watch, holding up the index finger of the other hand. A few seconds passed—then came two sounds. One was a clap, which—given the soundproofing—had to be that of a mythical giant’s hands hovering directly above the wreck. The other sound occurred concurrently, a high-pitched whistle condensed down to two seconds. Every light dimmed, flickered, then settled back to normal. Dr. Duggan smiled and put his hands down. Both fists now clenched, and even his considerable facial hair seemed to bristle, while his eyes brightened. He could’ve been struck by lightning.

“Wait. Did you just predict the time and place of a lightning strike?”

“Awesome, no? Well, I kind of did guide it here. What’s even more awesome is that I’ve just captured nought point one percent of the electrical power of that bolt.”

“I take it that’s a lot?”

“A helluva.”

“That…actually seems impossible.”

“Up until ye brought the new panel…it was indeed.”

“Really? How do you know you succeeded?”

“Well, there’s the fact the lights are still on. And there’s that, “he nodded towards the green display from before. It now read 538.2 Kj. “Five hundred and forty kilojoules,” he sighed, as if recounting how he’d met his first love. “Enough raw power to keep your lights on for months.” He held my shoulders. “Laddie, if ye hadn’t made it here in time, we’d have lost six months of valuable research. That cracked tile took me and NASA by surprise.”

I buzzed with a little—granted, unwarranted—pride.

“NASA. So that’s why the secrecy?”

His enthusiasm waned like the faltering lights did minutes ago. “This location is a closely guarded secret, hence the shipwreck—our competitors have satellite access. The technology I’m working on will benefit more lives than you can imagine. Millions. It being leaked before time would put it in serious jeopardy, hence why you had to sign that NDA before taking this on.”

Standing pretty much to attention, I said earnestly, “You don’t have to worry, Doctor. I’m a professional. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

He smiled. “Your supervisor assured me you’re the most reliable he had…and its for that reason we’d like you to be our sole delivery agent of the next batch of replacements. We got caught out here; that can’t happen again. Nor can we have a recurrence of this at the other eleven sites we’re operating from worldwide.”

“I’d be more than happy to help,” I managed to say, in spite of the huge grin.

We shook hands.

*

The storm raged on, but rather than the anxiety it roused earlier, I felt calmer as the night progressed.

“You must be famished,” the Doctor said, and flicked a switch. A panel slid aside revealing a well-appointed galley kitchen.

We discussed details over an amazing spaghetti vongole at an electronically slid-out table, while the storm’s muted rumbles dissipated to a barely noticeable level. He revealed that the capsule was actually named C.A.P.S.U.L.E, an acronym for Capture/Analysis Processing System for Utilising Lightning Electricity. He offered little else about the project of course but we talked extensively about the future deliveries. I ended up sleeping over on his sofa while he worked through the night, energised by the day’s successes.

*

When I stepped out of the hull’s rusted hole in the morning, after bidding the Doctor farewell for now, it was like the C.A.P.S.U.L.E. had transported me to another land. From east to west the entire sky was a sharp blue. The sea lay as still as sheet glass and seagulls glided without a care while an egg yolk sun pierced the horizon.

I grabbed my shoulder straps and started the trek back up the incline toward the clifftops. I glanced back at the wreck. The deep burnt umber mass sat on its bed of starkly contrasting grey boulders. Obvious, yet hidden in plain sight. I smiled. I had perhaps been aa touch foolhardy in my approach, but now, as part of something that would help millions, I knew I could no longer afford to be. I’d made it through the storm, but it seemed there were more adventures to come.

Why has China been so fast at integrating AI applications like DeepSeek into all kinds of products, while the US’s OpenAI has not moved at all in product integration?

Open AI had a great breakthrough in 2022 with Chat GPT

They believed their product was so unique and so revolutionary that they set a massive price tag on it and proposed a model that could potentially lead to the next Skynet one day

The entire US Tech ecosystem envisioned billions of dollars into Data Centres, Powerful servers and Powerful Chips

When the investment is so high, it is obvious the applications where such AI is likely to be used would also be high revenue generating applications

So OpenAI and it’s vision of product integration was AI being used in a F-22 or a F-35 Or a brand new fighter bomber capable of being auto piloted by AI and capable of selecting and firing targets on its own

That level of complexity and that level of potential revenue generation to justify so many billions of dollars of investments

Deepseek came along and demonstrated that with a fraction of the investment, it was able to provide a functionality on par with ChatGPT

The Chinese Tech ecosystem envisioned integration of AI Models into other models, into products such as Toys, Robots, Drones and even Medical Equipment & integration with e commerce platforms, search engines and other basic low level applications used by 500 million people

Much smaller level of application, much smaller level of revenue and returns but also a fraction of the huge investment that the Tech firms in the States have committed

This time the Chinese have triumphed because this method has led to better and better models emerging from China with more advanced applications such as Manus AI

Meanwhile OpenAI with all those billions is struggling to evolve into the next iteration

---

Its like one side has invested into a huge, expensive Michelin style restaurant with the best chefs and most expensive dishes

Now they are waiting for the wealthy customers to arrive and start making money to justify all the expense by selling Noodles for 200 Dollars a plate

Meanwhile the other side has invested into small clean but inexpensive restaurants offering the same noodles with the same taste for 2.50 Dollars a plate and have opened to all members of the general public

With more and more customers, they have moved on to start making automated equipment to actually make noodles instead of relying on Chefs

—

OpenAI need to start from scratch on their financial modelling and this means saying goodbye to the heavy investments already made into the original vision of OpenAI

“Nothing; I just noticed your heartbeat is elevated.”

“My heartbeat?” she retorted.

“Don’t worry, Elara. I always feel tense before a spacewalk. It’s natural to feel nervous.”

“I’m neither tense nor nervous,” Elara retorted.

“I mean excited,” John altered his statement.

“Yes, I’m excited,” Elara responded, then tethered herself to the chamber, released the outer door lever, and pushed the door open. She instantly felt intimidated by the vast blackness sparkling with distant, tiny stars. From her viewpoint, she could see the space station’s habitation module, their living section, and part of the solar arrays that provided the electricity to sustain the station’s life support system. The station appeared small and fragile, a speck of dust against the immense emptiness of space.

With adrenaline coursing through her veins, she leaped outside. The sensation was overwhelming and immensely satisfying. She skillfully manipulated the controls of her Manned Maneuvering Unit (MMU), activating its tiny jetpacks, and spun around until she faced the Earth. Although she had seen the planet from the station’s portholes, viewing it from outside the station, floating about 400 kilometers above sea level, was mesmerizing. “My God, it’s so beautiful,” she exclaimed involuntarily.

“It’s a breathtaking view, isn’t it?” John said over the comms.

“Yes, it is,” she replied, filled with awe.

“This view of Earth never gets old. I wish the industrialists who are actively destroying our planet for a little extra profit could come here and see it from this perspective—to understand how fragile our beautiful planet truly is. Earth is our home, the only place we can live. Yet, for personal gain, we are actively harming it,” John said while monitoring Elara’s movements.

Elara replied, “I see your point, John.”

Elara was on duty and had a job, so she reluctantly turned her gaze away from the mesmerizing swirl of the emerald green and deep blue marble-like globe, navigating toward the solar arrays using her MMU’s controls. With John’s help, she quickly located the damaged solar panels and began her meticulous assessment. Although the space station was orbiting the Earth at a staggering speed of 28000 kilometers per hour, Elara felt as though she was utterly stationary, suspended in the silent void of space as she focused on the damaged solar panels below her.

Three individual solar panels, each measuring one square meter, were severely damaged, likely due to a collision with high-velocity space debris—probably discarded technological junk from previous human space ventures. Two additional panels showed signs of partial damage caused by debris as small as grains of sand. Despite their tiny size, the incredible speed of these particles, combined with the motion of the space station, allowed them to pierce the solar panels with the force and precision of bullets smashing a car’s windshield. To evaluate the extent of the damage, she initially concentrated on the panels with less damage, carefully assessing whether they could be salvaged or if all the panels needed complete replacement.

The monotony was interrupted by a peculiar sensation that made her mind flurry. Soft as a whisper, a gentle, barely perceptible breeze lightly brushed against her right arm, causing a slight shiver. “Impossible,” she dismissed it as mere imagination. She was encased in a pressurized suit 400 kilometers above the Earth’s surface, with no atmosphere capable of generating a breeze. The thought that her suit sleeve might be punctured and losing air filled her with concern. To reassure herself, Elara glanced at the digital readout on her wrist to check the oxygen level and the suit’s pressure. The readings were regular, and her spacesuit’s integrity appeared intact. She once more dismissed it as mere imagination and returned to her job. But the sensation intensified as if she had held her arm before a spinning fan. Her breath became shallow, echoing loudly in her helmet. She quickly checked the readout on her wrist again, which showed nothing unusual. “Is this monitoring device faulty?” The thought crossed her mind, triggering a wave of panic. If her spacesuit were leaking, she could lose pressure and die in a few minutes, if not seconds.

Before she could say anything, John came on the comms and asked, “Is everything okay, Elara? I noticed your high blood pressure and heart racing dangerously fast.”

“I can’t breathe!” she nearly shrieked.

“Why’s that? I don’t see any pressure drop. Your suit’s pressure is stable.”

“The life signs monitoring device must be faulty. I feel a constant breeze against the skin of my right arm,” Elara said in a voice filled with panic.

“Abort! Abort the mission, Elara,” John shouted over the comms. Although his monitor didn’t indicate any issues, it was better to be safe than sorry, so he asked Elara to abort the mission.

Overwhelmed by panic, Elara pushed herself away from the solar arrays and attempted to return to the airlock. However, with her impaired concentration, she lost control of her Manned Maneuvering Unit (MMU), which made her spin around violently, intensifying her panic. “I can’t do this!” she yelled desperately.

“Elara, calm down. You can do this. You’ve trained for situations like this,” John replied.

“I’m losing air. I’m going to die,” she said, her voice barely intelligible.

“Elara, if you’re losing air, it’s not that serious; otherwise, you would have already died.”

Elara’s sobbing was audible through the comms; she was experiencing a panic attack.

“You can do this, Elara.”

But Elara wasn’t in the right mental state to hear him; panic clouded her judgment.

“Lieutenant, take a deep breath and regain control. This is an order,” John said with authority, understanding that soldiers in shock would respond better to commands than rational conversation. Their intensive military training aimed to condition soldiers to follow orders.

“Yes, sir,” Elara replied weakly.

“Lieutenant, listen to me carefully. Take control of your MMU and return to the airlock ASAP. This is an order.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. After several failed attempts, she regained control of her Manned Maneuvering Unit and slowly but steadily moved toward the space station hall and the airlock. Seeing the hall grow bigger through her helmet’s visor boosted her confidence. “I’m getting closer,” she said joyfully.

“Keep going, Lieutenant, you can make it,” John said authoritatively.

Elara involuntarily laughed as her hand touched the airlock handle. It was a great relief; she was saved.

“Lieutenant, slowly push the lever down and open the airlock’s outer door.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, pushing the lever down.

Standing in the airlock chamber boosted her confidence. She wasn’t going to die alone in Earth orbit. The hiss of air filling the room was the sweetest music to her ears, reassuring her of her safe return. When the inner door of the airlock opened, John, the station commander; Martina, the Italian astronaut and biologist; and Sergey, the Russian cosmonaut, were there to help her. Until then, the readout had shown no faults in her spacesuit. They quickly assisted her in removing the suit and carefully checked it. It appeared intact, but a pressure test would be needed later. Martina handed her a warm drink and said, “Please drink this; it will make you feel better.”

“Thank you,” Elara said, happily sucking the warm drink—hot chocolate—from the container’s nozzle.

When they helped her remove her undergarment, Martina discovered a spider in the right sleeve of her dress. “Where did this spider come from?” she asked.

“This is a space spider,” Sergey teased.

Martina quickly grabbed the spider and transferred it into a sealed glass container. “On the previous mission, the crew researched spiders’ ability to produce silk webs in zero gravity. This one likely escaped from their container.”

“So, all this drama is caused by this ugly spider?” Elara asked.

“It appears so,” John responded.

“It felt like a breeze brushing against my arm,” Elara said.

“The station should be bug-free, so you didn’t expect a spider to be in your suit, which is why your brain interpreted the sensation of the crawling spider on your skin as a breeze—like a breeze brushing against your skin,” Martina explained.

The Constitution would have to be amended because as on date Taiwan is a province of China according to the Constitution

Not an Autonomous Region

So under the law – Taiwan cannot get the One Nation Two Government system of HK with their own Currency and Chief Executive

They can only become another Province with

• Provincial legislature
• Delegates appointed to the CPC
• There would be a Governor of Taiwan & Mayors of Taipei,Taichung, Tainan, Kaohsiung,Hsinchu, Keelung, Chiayi, Pingtung and other cities

---

However if Taiwan agrees to an eventual reunification under the One Nation Two Government rule, then Mainland China is likely to amend their Constitution and agree to the same

It is a peaceful solution to a problem and China would welcome any solution which solves their purpose

Texas-Style Beef Sausage Rolls with Jalapeño and Cheddar

Yield: 21 rolls

Ingredients

• 2 pounds ground beef
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1 onion, finely diced
• 1/3 cup bread crumbs
• 4 jalapeño peppers, de-seeded and diced
• 6 ounces sharp or medium cheddar, finely diced
• 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
• 1 1/2 teaspoons coarsely ground black pepper
• 3 (10 inch) sheets puff pastry, thawed
• 1 egg, beaten

Instructions

1. Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
2. Place olive oil in a small pan over medium heat. Add onions and brown for 10 to 15 minutes, stirring frequently. Allow the onions to cool.
3. In a large bowl, combine beef, cooled onions, bread crumbs, jalapeños, cheese, salt and pepper. Mix gently but thoroughly as to not overwork the meat.
4. Lay one square of pastry on a board or work surface. Use a third of the beef mixture to form a log down the center. Fold the pastry over the beef mixture on one side, then brush along the edge with egg mixture to create a “glue”. Continue to fold the roll over so it’s fully encased in pastry, and the edges line up on the egg glue line, then press the pastry lightly to ensure a good seal. Repeat steps with each pastry square.
5. Flip each beef roll so it’s seam side down, then cut into 6 to 8 pieces. Place the pieces onto a sheet pan and bake for 30 to 35 minutes or until the pastry is golden brown. You may need to rotate the tray during baking to ensure even browning.
6. Allow to cool slightly before serving.

Nutrition

Per serving (based on 90% lean ground beef): 250 Calories; 129 Calories from fat; 14.3g Total Fat (6.4g Saturated Fat; 2.7g Monounsaturated Fat); 35.4mg Cholesterol; 363.6mg Sodium; 15.4g Total Carbohydrate; 0.8g Dietary Fiber; 13.4g Protein; 2.04mg Iron; 117.2mg Potassium; 0.02mg Thiamin; 0.09mg Riboflavin; 3.1mg Niacin (NE); 0.1mg Vitamin B6; 0.9mcg Vitamin B12; 2.4mg Zinc; 9.2mcg Selenium; 28.5mg Choline

This recipe is an excellent source of Protein, Niacin (NE), Vitamin B12 and Zinc. It is a good source of Iron.

Attribution

Recipe and photo used with permission from: Texas Beef Team
Recipe courtesy of: Jess Pryles, jesspryles.com

Why don’t MAGA Americans try to save Tesla and Elon Musk by dumping their F-150s and Dodge Rams and replacing them with cybertrucks?

Okay, let’s start at the beginning.

It’s called a “Cybertruck”, but it’s a misnomer. The Cybertruck is no more a “truck” than a motorcycle sidecar is a “car”. It has virtually no storage space, limited weight capacity, and it’s not recommended for towing.

Now, a lot of people buy trucks and don’t use them for their intended purpose, which is “hauling stuff around”, but I’m sure a lot of MAGA actually are working people who use their trucks as vehicles for hauling and towing. A normal pickup truck can easily handle a payload of 1,000 pounds and tow a vehicle weighing more than 13,000 pounds.

And, in fact, if you look at people who engage in outdoor sports like biking, fishing, hunting and hiking, they universally go with two types of vehicles – pickup trucks and Honda Civics.

Cyclists love the Civic

And you can do pretty much anything you want with a pickup. They’re incredibly versatile.

And if you want an all electric pickup….

Ford makes a real one that’s a real F150 with an electric power plant.

And, frankly, a lot of farmers just love this puppy

This Chinese truck is actually just perfect for most farmers. It’s got a pretty good weight capacity, is easy to maintain, fairly reliable, can do towing, and doesn’t cost a lot. It’s also probably got more storage space than a Tesla.

Has being a polite customer in a stressful situation ever resulted in unexpectedly exceptional service or special treatment for you?

As I walk up to the gate desk, I can tell the agents are dealing with a lot. Their posture and the looks on their faces say almost as much as the conversation they are having about handling a delayed flight.

I wait quietly and patiently. When the agent nearest to where I stand says she would be with me as soon as she can, I smile and say “Thanks, I’m in no rush.”

When she calls me to the desk, I say with a smile, “I’m only here to tell you two things: first you are doing a great job. Second, if you need a volunteer, I’m willing to be bumped.”

The agent beams at me and then says, “Thank you for your kind words and for your offer. If we do need your seat, I’ll let you know.”

Nothing happens when boarding begins and I take my place on the plane. As I’m settling in, I hear my name.

I confirm being bumped and exit the plane. The agent thanks me and gives me a voucher for TWICE my fare because I have to stay overnight.

She also gives me a free room and food voucher, along with my ticket for the next morning’s flight. I sit down near the desk and call my husband to let him know that I won’t be home tonight.

Just as I am gathering my bags, I hear a commotion. A man who is yelling and swearing is being forcibly led out of the gate area.

The agent who gave me the voucher sees me and calls me back to the desk. My heart sinks as I think, “If only I had left right away, I could have kept all that extra flight money!” When I get there, she gives me a huge smile and says, “He was removed for being drunk and out of control – that means he forfeits his fare.

I’m reissuing your ticket for his seat, so you get to go home tonight after all. And I want you to keep the flight voucher for the inconvenience and especially because you were so nice.”

So gratifying -on so many levels!