If you think the car business slows down, you’re delusional. This week we accidentally created a semi-illegal Cybertruck, inhaled a trade-in that smelled like a smoke grenade, and got absolutely roasted by YouTube because I split a discount.

Let’s break it down.

We pulled a Cybertruck into the shop to give it a normal detail. A light correction. Maybe a protection layer. Nothing crazy.

But Cybertrucks aren’t normal cars – they’re 6,000 pounds of stainless steel that looks like it came straight out of a sci-fi movie. And when you polish stainless steel, it doesn’t shine. It reflects. 

The more you work on it, the more it turns into a literal mirror. And that's when you start to get why the Cybertruck community online is constantly losing their minds over finish issues: Fingerprints everywhere. Streaks and smudges if you breathe on it wrong. Water spots. Surface oxidation that sends Tesla forums into a full meltdown.

Anyways, we polished ours, and about halfway through, we realized we created something that probably shouldn’t exist on public roads: a stainless-steel slab that already triggers people on the internet and turning it into a hyper-reflective road hazard.

And it looks insane. 

So is it illegal? Technically no. But is it borderline? Let’s just say if someone gets blinded at 2 p.m. because the sun hits this thing at the wrong angle, that’s between them and Tesla.

We got a trade-in that smelled so strong we caught it before the driver even opened the door. And that’s with me having a cold. If I can smell it like that while sick, imagine the actual condition of the interior.

Smoking in your car is one of the fastest ways to nuke its resale value, sometimes by thousands of dollars.

Dealers know this. Auctions know this. Wholesalers know this. The second a buyer sees “Smoke Odor Present” on the condition report, the price drops before anyone even opens the door.

Smoke doesn’t just hang in the air. It gets into every porous surface inside the cabin. And once it’s baked in, it becomes a structural feature of the car.

That's why you’ll see entire YouTube channels dedicated to smoke removal transformations. Search “cigarette smell removal car” and you’ll get detailers stripping interiors down to bare metal just to get a car back to “livable.”’

Some shops will charge over $1,000 for full smoke-odor remediation because it’s that invasive. It’s usually a lose-lose unless the smell can be removed. And even then, you never get it 100% out.

We tried everything with this trade-in: enzyme cleaners, steam extraction, ozone, ventilation baking, the whole professional process.

And while we improved it, it wasn’t “retail clean.”

So our final verdict was straight to auction, marked honestly, because we don’t put customers in smoke-saturated interiors. That’s not our brand. Not our business.

A buyer pulled up on the Ruby Star 911 with white buckets, a car we just got that already had three people waiting on it. Rare spec, no real comps, hard to discount.

The customer asks, “Can you take off $2,500?”

My brother says on the phone, “Just do it.”

I walk outside, look the buyer in the eye, feel the energy of the deal, and say “let’s split it. $1,250.” 

Boom. Deal done. Customer’s happy. We’re happy. We post the clip. And the internet takes it personally.

The YouTube commenters came out swinging:

“You’re a roach.”
“Worst negotiator ever.”
“Bro stole $1,250 from the customer.”
“This guy is cooked.”
“Fire him.”
“Refund the man.”

I’m reading these comments thinking, “Guys… this is how deals work.” Customers counter. We counter. We land in the middle. Everybody leaves shaking hands.But apparently I should have walked out and said: “As my brother commanded, here is your full $2,500, my liege.”

But the deal closed, the car sold, the customer left smiling, and the internet still hates me.

So tell me guys, should I bleep the numbers so that pretend profit doesn’t matter? Let me know.