A friend of mine is vacationing in North Africa. He’s due back next week and was trying to decide how to make the return—take the short car ferry from Morocco to Spain and drive the long road back to Vienna, or board a boat to northern Italy and skip half the mileage. His wife, ever the romantic, lobbied hard for the long, leisurely sea voyage. He, predictably, leaned toward the road—open highway, predictable misery.
Then he called me for an opinion. That was his first mistake.
I told him, quite plainly, that if there’s even one electric vehicle aboard that ferry, all bets are off. One single Tesla or battery-powered toaster on wheels, and they might as well be sailing a floating powder keg. These things don’t just catch fire—they spontaneously combust out of sheer existential despair. And once they do, no amount of seawater can quench the lithium inferno. Evacuation becomes the entertainment of the day, and every car in the hold becomes charcoal. His wife’s shiny crossover? Roasted. His suitcase? Gone. Their vacation photos? Vaporized.
Silence on the line. Then I heard her voice in the background: “We’re driving.” No further discussion needed.
That’s the funny part—people fear sharks and turbulence and pirates, but not the ticking battery packs parked right next to them. These vehicles have turned every parking garage, ferry, and tunnel into a quiet lottery of combustion. The industry calls it “energy transition.” I call it Russian roulette with better branding.
How much risk from electric vehicles are you personally willing to bear? One in your neighbor’s garage? One in the ferry hold beneath your family? Or maybe one silently smoldering in the underground car park below your child’s kindergarten? Because when these things burn, they don’t just light up—they erase.
But sure, let’s pretend it’s progress.
https://notalotofpeopleknowthat.wordpress.com/2025/10/26/just-hope-your-doors-open/