The War

It started simple enough. A broken hinge. I've never had a garage door that had a broken hinge. Didn't look that serious to ME. The door still opened and closed, even if it did make a funny scraping noise every now and again. Besides, I was going to replace the hinge. Honest, I was.

Another hinge broke. Which in retrospect makes perfect sense. One broken hinge puts extra pressure on other hinges to make up for it's sorry ass performance. Slacker.

Now the door is obviously uneven in places. This is making it run unevenly in the tracks, a fact that the garage door motor is obviously oblivious to as it continues to pull with gorilla force despite the screeching mini-thunder sound of bending metal. The garage door motor is not my friend.

I am garage door ignorant, but I can tell that these sounds are not good.

It's kind of like if you step on a cat's tail, the sound is one of obvious pissed offedness but you are not exactly sure what's been hurt, the cat's tail or it's feelings. So I am not sure if the garage door is trying to tell me it does not appreciate having to work this hard or inefficiently or if its in agonizing pain from being ripped and bent by an unfeeling motor while I watch, doing nothing, seemingly uncaring about it's pain.

None of this occurred to me at the time. And I can tell without any help whatsoever that the gargage door doesn't look right. My exact thoughts were more along the line of, "Crap, how much is THIS gonna cost me."

Then the fatal thought

(to be read in slow motion),
" I Caaaan ffiiixx thiissss myyyseelllffff...."

Cue in the theme from the twilight zone.

A MAN AND A GARAGE DOOR.

COMMON TO MOST SUBURBAN NEIGHBORHOODS.
BUT THIS IS NOT A NORMAL GARAGE DOOR....
AND THIS NEIGHBORHOOD IS IN THE MIDDLE OF>>>>>
THE TWILIGHT ZONE.......

My first action is to announce to the family (two boys, nine and seven)...

"Do NOT open the garage door. It is broken"

To me these instructions are fairly clear. Don't open the garage door. But to be certain I say it again, louder and with my mean, serious look....it's a good look, even if my 17 year old daughter cracks up when she sees me do it. Don't open the garage door. DON'T OPEN THE GARAGE DOOR (insert mean look)

After they try to open the garage door and it crunches one of the panels like Godzilla stepping on a Japanese SUV, I realize my mistake. I did not say, "Don't open the garage door, EVEN IF YOU NEED TO GET YOUR BICYCLES OUT." And of course, I did not unhook the brutish garage door opener engine. My fault.

I unhooked the brutish garage door opener engine. The door itself is now about 3/4's of the way open, crooked and wedged into the tract tighter than Pam Anderson's DDD's in a bustier. But, I'm still thinking....

" I Caaaan ffiiixx thiissss myyyseelllffff...."

At this point, it may have been best for all involved if someone had shot me. No one had the foresight.*

After thirty minutes of herculean effort the door has not budged. We are supposed to be having a hailstorm shortly so I manage to squeeze the car under the door and into the garage. Would that I cared for my garage door as well as my car.

Shortly thereafter my ex and her boyfriend show up. In an act of desperation, I ask for his help. No man should have to ask his ex's boyfriend to help fix something that he has messed up by pure stupidity. But it does go to show my mental state at the time.

With the two of us we manage to get the door down, after having to remove the lower panel. The door is closed with a two foot gap at the bottom. Can't be helped. Door is closed. Car is safe. All is well.*(reference, what would have been best for all involved, above)

The next day, Friday, I have a doctor's appointment. I go out to open the door, giving myself an extra thirty minutes for any unforseen difficulty. Three hours later, the door is still closed only now it is unhooked from the brutish garage door opener. The door is now touching the ground and the two foot gap is at the top rather than the bottom. I have determined that only the Incredible HULK has the strength necessary to open this evil evil door.

How we arrived at this state is too painful to recall.

At this point, Friday at almost six o'clock, I do what any grown, emotionally mature man would do. I mutter, "Fuck it" and go inside to have a beer. On Saturday, neighbors kindly bring me cigarettes and diet dr. pepper (the boys are spending the weekend with their granny). Sunday, another neighbor and I and his wife manage to get the door open long enough to pull the car out before it settles into it's current position.





The garage door won. I sincerely no longer have any animosity toward the door, the motor or any other inanimant object that participated in the struggle. The Garage Door was a valiant opponent and won this battle fair and square. And I learned a valuable lesson.

Always have extra cigarettes and soda in the house.

......you know, I still might be able to fix that by myself.*