We are, in terms of the modern age, stuck in our house. Oh, sure, we could walk out the door and do something, but, really, what would that get us?
Just moments before half-time of the Super Bowl, after much hemming and hawing on the part of Amanda, who first wanted “just dry cereal” for dinner, the decision was made to go to Boston Market for some dinner, after which I would pick up some Chinese from Pickup Stix to eat at home. So we packed up everything that’s needed for every venture outward and clambered out to the garage, where I hit the button to open the door. It screeched open a few inches, then quickly screeched back down. I did this over and over, to Amanda’s increasing alarm, and stood there asking myself, “What in the hell is going on here?”
After some looking, re-opening, re-closing, and more frustration, I finally realized what happened: the torsion spring that helps open the door had snapped that last time it closed. And, with that, we were stuck. The garage door is virtually impossible to open without the help of that extremely high-tension spring. I didn’t know that, and I find it kind of fascinating.
With both cars in the garage on a Sunday night, it appears that we’re both getting an unexpected day off of work tomorrow. I can’t say I’m all that upset, actually.