So Tam and her roomie are now running an electric lawn mower — a cordless electric lawn mower at that — and some of their peer group find this inexplicable for a couple of proper ‘Murrican girls; geez, what’s next, you two, those sissy electric cars?
First, the electric car has come of age, at least as an urban/suburban commuter. It means that never again does the city or suburban driver have to go to a gas station or convenience store, which are, let’s face it, the watering holes on the Serengeti of crime.
Second, the Tesla seems to be marketed pretty well as … well, an urban commuter rocketship.
“But, Tam! You can’t take roadtrips in it!” In my experience, people in the Tesla-buying bracket usually fly, anyway. And when they do take roadtrips, they do so in rented vehicles so as not to run up the miles on their POV.
I haven’t been in the market for one of these ampere-swilling contraptions, mostly for the same reason Tam isn’t:
The Tesla’s not the kind of car for me, but that’s because I’m poor and need my own vehicle to be able to run to Texas as well as it runs to the corner store.
Which would seem to be a justification for the hybrid, which cuts your gasoline safaris in half while not requiring you to spend the rest of your life in search of an open two-twenty line. Maybe I won’t ever do another World Tour, but I’m not about to sneer at someone whose exhaust consists largely of electrons.