The door jammed for the last time. In twelve months he had encountered the same situation exactly fourteen times. He had a vivid memory of each of those fourteen times. Unfortunately, for the door and possibly the car, he came to the realization that he had had enough. He quickly calculated in his head the time wasted on this ritual. Each time this problem had occurred it forced him to do a number of actions which would finally result in the door being opened. One of the first things he always tried was trying the door again. This was more instinctual than common sense. Giving the door a few jabs never hurt. He believed that it loosened up the door a bit while also being a good way to vent out some of his frustration. He would open his garage door and fumble his way through a disorganized toolbox until he had found a flat-head screwdriver. With pure bluntness and the will to get into his car, he drove the the screwdriver through the space between and yank the door open. After all the effort and time spent he often justified throwing the tool in a nearby bin. Of course there was an entirely different set of procedures dealing with getting out of the car.
Today marked the end of Jonothan's relationship with his car. Surprisingly, even to him, it was not because of it's refusal to let him in it's temple. Nor the asphyxiating sound it makes during the morning startup. It wasn't the judgemental looks and comments from friends or passerby. It was quite simply totaled. The front hood was slightly opened at an angle. An almost brownish smog seething out of its pores. Its round feet no longer touching the ground evenly.