Why are they blowing up all these refineries? To understand we need to go back to one day before this war started:
"Hello? Oh, hello, J.B. Yes, sir, I’m down here at the main showroom right now.
...Well, to be perfectly frank with you, J.B., the early sales reports on the Electro-Glide 500 are... well, they're a little sparse. In fact, if we’re being completely precise, we haven't actually sold one yet.
...No, sir, the showroom has plenty of foot traffic. People are very curious. They walk up to it, they kick the tires, and then they ask where the tailpipe is.
...Yes, I know we explained the zero-emissions feature in the brochure, J.B., but when I tell them it runs entirely on a massive bank of chemical cells, they look at me like I’m asking them to drive a torpedo. And then, of course, they ask about the price.
...Well, that’s just it, sir. The battery pack alone costs more than a brand-new, top-of-the-line station wagon. When you add the car itself, the retail price is... well, it’s astronomical, J.B. A man could buy a small house in the suburbs, or he could buy our two-door coupe that hums.
...Promotional ideas? Well, yes, sir, we could offer a free road atlas, but I don't think that tackles the core anxiety. You see, the map doesn't show them where to plug it in.
...No, J.B., they can't just plug it into a tree. There are no roadside recharging stations. Anywhere. If a customer leaves the city limits and the cells drain, their options are pretty much limited to abandoning the vehicle or looking for a very long extension cord.
...A celebrity endorsement? Well, yes, sir, having a movie star drive one down Sunset Boulevard would look marvelous, but it still doesn't change the fact that it takes eight hours to charge. It’s hard to project an image of Hollywood glamour when you’re stranded at a diner in Needles, California, waiting for your battery to simmer.
...Yes, sir, I am trying to stay positive. I’m just saying that as long as standard regular gasoline is sitting at thirty-one cents a gallon, nobody is going to trade their V8 for a car that requires a slide rule and a prayer to get to the grocery store.
...Yes, sir. Thank you, J.B. I'll keep the showroom open late. Goodbye, sir."
(The sound of a heavy rotary phone receiver clacking back onto its cradle. A beat of dead silence. Then, a hand reaches over and clicks on a tabletop transistor radio. The speaker crackles to life with an urgent, blaring news bulletin.)
Radio Announcer: "We interrupt this program to bring you a special report from the Persian Gulf. Heavy combat has erupted along the coast, and military forces have completely shut down the Strait of Hormuz. Repeat, the strait is closed to all maritime traffic. Reports are coming in of coordinated strikes targeting major regional refineries, with massive fires visible from miles away. Oil analysts are already warning of an unprecedented, immediate collapse in global petroleum exports—"
(A sharp rustle of papers as the showroom phone instantly starts ringing again, loud and frantic. A beat of deadpan realization.)
"Hello? Yes, J.B. ...No, sir, I’m listening to it right now. ...Yes, sir, I see the ticker. Our stock price is already up twelve points. ...Well, yes, sir, I suppose your talk with the President did help.
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