"Mr. Ericsson, you have to turn that off now," your teacher tells you. "Class is starting."
The loud drone of the 300 watt gas-powered generator running next to your desk makes it difficult to hear him, but the angry expression on his face and his repeated, emphatic pointing at the motor allows you the context you need to know you need to turn off the genny for a moment. You flick the switch and rub your ears to ease the ringing.
"Sir, I'm sure you can see my laptop is plugged into this generator," you explain, "and laptop is old with a bad battery. I won't be able to take notes without a laptop, and I can't use my laptop for more than three minutes if it isn't plugged in."
"Well," you teacher sighs, "you'll just have to use a pen and paper, sorry."
"Oh!" you scoff. "So because I can't afford a fancy new laptop, I just have to make due with caveman tools? Is this how we treat poor people now? I thought this was an economics class, sir, not a Reaganomics class!"
"Why don't you just plug it into the wall, then?"
"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you? You'd love for me to become a slave to Big Electricity, to be caught in their two-pronged grip of voltaic oppression? That'd be just fine and dandy with you, wouldn't it?"
Your teacher appears extremely confused. "I don't know what to say here, but you can't use that generator."
"I just want the right to practice my religion in peace. My people hold the drum of a power-supplying motor to be sacred. Would you deny a man his faith?"
Your teacher kicks you out of class. Economics is dumb anyway.