We all are stupid from time to time, right? At least that’s what I tell myself. I am not actually sure it’s true, because not everyone is as willing to share as I am. So last week, our garage door opener decided to stop working. This happened on a Sunday night, which means that we would be waiting until Travis has a chance to fix it the following weekend (or longer, as fate would have it). Travis thought that I would park in the street until it was fixed. I thought it was a bit too cold to park in the street, so I would just manually open the door, since this door is in front of the only garage spot deep enough and wide enough to fit Bert, the SUV of questionable origin. Otherwise, I would have kicked Tessa out of the garage. Turns out the tiny Acura requires little more than a bike space, so I could not switch.

Travis discovered that there is a regular old garage bolt lock on the door, so we decided to start using that. I remember these from the “way back times” when the kids were the garage door openers. Remember those days? We would pull up to the house in the pouring rain, and our parents would deploy the garage door opener by telling us to go open the garage door. In our family, we had a step stool that we had to use to jam a small 2 x 4 between the bottom of the garage door and the frame around it, because we had to have the door ALL the way open to fit the family 15 passenger van into the garage. Thinking about it now, I am seriously considering if I am remembering that wrong because how could that monstrosity even fit into the garage? I definitely remember the 2 x 4, because, depending on the direction of the wind, rain, or snow, you got to be out in the delightful weather for however long it took to get the thing jammed in just the right spot. And I was short.

Anyway, in Valpo, we are going old school until we get it fixed. The first time I needed to leave, everyone else was already gone for the day. I am running a bit late (because that’s my usual way to run) and am in a hurry. I get out to the garage, and I can’t figure out how to unlock the bolt. Back in the day, we had a spring mechanism that released the bolt when you pressed a tab. But I couldn’t find a tab on this one. I looked everywhere on the bolt box (or whatever it’s called). Seriously, how difficult could this be? Okay, so maybe there is no tab. I tried pulling the lever with all my might. It didn’t budge. Not even a little. Because, if it moved, even a fraction of an inch, it would have encouraged me to continue in that fashion. So now I have my phone flashlight out and am inspecting the lock millimeter by millimeter (I just switched from English to metric measurement, but whatever). I simply cannot find any release. Although, there is a dimple in the top of the box. So I go to the tool box and pull out a philips head screwdriver and I use it to press on the dimple. I use my full weight at this point, because nothing else seems like a reasonable solution. And…nothing. Now, I am swearing, calling Travis on speaker, and trying to find the tab again with my phone light. I go to voicemail (a usual event during the work day), which does not bring out rational thinking. Now, I go to the toolbox to get the ratchet set, because I am going to take this bad boy off the darn door. I WILL WIN over the inanimate object one way or another. As I am opening up the ratchet set on the garage floor, Travis calls back. Perhaps the calm, rational message I left him prompted a return call. I am actually amazed that he didn’t leave me to my own devices.

I give Travis the low down on the defective lock. I can tell he is stifling a laugh. This does NOT improve my mood. But at least he is stifling it. He tells me to use my foot on the little one inch handle near the garage floor to release the pressure on the bolt, while pulling manually on the bolt. I do this and it slides and clicks open. How…HOW didn’t I see that handle during my inspection? I was looking like a teenager looks for socks before announcing that there aren’t any. I had to hang up quickly due to embarrassment and because I was even later than before, having wasted no less than 10 minutes (and maybe more) on my attempts to unlock the door.

Although, in a twist of fate, I now can use the garage door opener from the Volkswagen CC (Crappy Car) instead of keying into the garage through the side door to release the lock on the garage door every time I come home. This is because the “check engine” light went on…again. Wasn’t that piece of junk in the shop in September, getting thousands of dollars in repairs at the dealer because nobody else will touch that car? Right…it was. I have no less than two harrumphs on that car and my frustrations with it. I hate that car. But I am not as nice as Travis, so I did not stifle my laugh when he told me about it. So, now Travis is driving the Acura with 200,000 miles on it while he figures out what is wrong with Crappy the Car. He used his diagnostic tool thingy (it’s an official name) which he had to get because Crappy is always needing diagnostics. He thinks he knows what needs to be done. So while that is broken, I can use the other door opener to unlock my door, which is a bit easier for me. But the car being down pushes back the fixing of the garage door, which sucks for me. Small problems…small problems. And that’s that.