In his late twenties my grandfather took his savings and went into town to be the first in the valley to own a car. It must have been a bumpy ride, manouvering the clumsy machine into that high alpine valley that was his home.
Almost having made it home they had to cross a small bridge; only, they did not. The car crashed into the railing and would not move back or forward again, no matter what. He got out and behind the car, fuelled with anger and frustration and pushed it into the water. After that he would never again get behind a steering wheel for the rest of his life. At least in thought I came close to attempting to do the same when my car had let me down yet again recently.
Aparently, driving at 50mph through a 100m long, deep puddle was not the smartest choice. Splashy, classed “fun!” not just by the children, but what ensued was fun-free. Although, it started as what probably is a car playing out a practical joke: wipers wiping dry screens, indicators indicating pointlessly, horn beeping as soon as the key is out of the lock, no matter what.
Getting to the bottom of it (where we found a flooded fusebox, among other things) in the pouring rain had me produce more than a curse or two, but fortunately WD-40, Duct Tape and my brother in law, who thankfully never falls short of saving the old beast from getting kicked down a bridge (and myself from getting fined for enviromental hazard), came to the rescue once again.