Worst Day Ever, PART TWO
With the attic door pulled shut and the morning’s pest control visitation behind me, I decided to run out for an irresonsibly bad fast food lunch. Since I hadn’t slept all night and had to deal with the unpleasantness of the VanOsdol attic petting zoo, I felt I deserved a meal whose order ended with “and a large shake, please.”
I threw my coat on and went to the garage. As I put my keys in the ignition, I opened the garage door via remote. Then, without thinking (remember, I hadn’t slept much in the past day), I threw the car into reverse and directly into the garage door, which was making its methodical climb up.
In one second’s time, I knocked the door off the hinges. Wheels flew off the track. The track moved off center a good six inches or so. I then had a paralyzing moment of misery, the kind when one realizes they’ve done something horribly irresponsible which will soon suck the rest of the day into it, much like a “bad move black hole.”
I called my much handier neighbor over to see if he could assist. After doing lots of things with hammers and pliers, his summary was a plain, “you really f***** this one up, man.”
I thanked him for his time (he really needs to start billing me for every time I drag him next door to witness the detritus left in my wake), and went inside to Google a garage door repairman. Meanwhile, the weather report was threatening me to get things done in quick order, as a dramatic winter storm (or THE dramatic winter storm, if you prefer) was on the way.
Online, I found a local business who said they’d be out to my house within an hour or so. Problem solved. I sat in the living room, by the front door, waiting. Nervously passing time. Sending emails to coworkers and eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (my fast food plans would have to wait for another day).
After almost two hours, I called the service back at 3:40 p.m. I got their voice mail. Freezing rain was starting to fall. I tried back 20 minutes later and got through. The person on the other end said, “Oh yeah, you’re next. The guys are about 15 minutes away from your place; you should see them soon.”
What if they couldn’t fix it when they got to my house, I wondered. Was it so close to the end of the business day that I might have to wait until the next business day to get it taken care of? I started to stress myself out to the point that my stomach actually hurt (a cool, refreshing shake would’ve done wonders for me then).
Finally, a white van pulled up in my alley at 4:15. It was like watching the tanks roll past the Arc de Triomphe during the liberation of Paris. They just had to be my salvation. I was counting on it.
Within seconds, I realized they would, in fact, be my salvation. The two-man crew included an acquaintance of mine who’d been over to the house a couple of times; a totally decent, honorable, man. He laughed when I saw him. “You should’ve just called me direct, man,” he said.
“Direct? I didn’t even know you worked for this company,” I replied.
He laughed again. “What’s the problem?”
“I drove my car into the garage door.”
“It’s, uh, really busted up,” I continued.
“This is nothing,” he assured me.
And to prove it, the two-man crew had the door back together and fully functioning within 15 minutes.
With that, I was able to put a coda on my symphony of suck.
Winter storm? Bring it on. I can take it.