We own a garage door called a LiftMaster. This replaced the old door that was there when the previous family was there. I believe this door was installed about a decade ago. So we've had this for a while. It has withstood the neighborhood tagging and has protected our Toyota Corolla and Honda Accord that we own, a few household tools, a Piugnose guitar on the rafters, a Hop-on-Pop doll, and other random trinkets. A few days ago, like many things, the garage door needed a serious checkup. The LiftMaster looked as if to say, "I need a checkup, members of the family!"
I had just got out from a shift ay my new job at Maritz Research. As I was getting ready to go to bed after a long day at Keller and the office (and watching Hawaii beat Fresno State in basketball), I heard some activity outside.
So I went down to the garage, thinking that someone broke in to steal property from our house. Turns out it was just Mom and Dad, heading back from rehearsal for my older sister's wedding. And Dad was trying to figure out why the garage door wouldn't open.
Now, I will be honest here: I haven't the slightest clue, aside from the "wear-and-tear" theory, about why garage doors fail to open when they normally should when you press a button. So I checked Yellow Book for companies that repaired LiftMasters. Later that night, I would advise Mom to look into calling the companies that fix these types of doors.
Meanwhile, me and Dad spent about a few hours observing the inner mechanics of the the LiftMaster. Now, one of the finniest things about the door is when it when the cable (I am assuming it's a bacle issue...later on, it would be confirmed is not working, it tends to elicit a loud "THUD!". For some odd reason, I got a laugh from it-a really huge laugh-as me and Dad tested the switch. We got it open once by lifting the hinges, but that's about it. To further complicate already depressing matters...would you believe it...the LiftMaster light went out.
"Maraming problema dito say bahay," said Dad. "There are many problems in this house."
"It's the Bedlam house," I said. "A cycle within a cycle. A brilliant idea. And this moment is brought to you by the Bedlam on Baltic Avenue. Visit the BEdlam online at bedlamba.blogspot.com Bedlam on Baltic Avenue. There's always something going on down there. So, and progress?"
He was still looking at the cable through a flashlight.
We spend a few minutes more, trying in vain to fix the door. I knew that the door was going tot hud again. When it did, I broke down in laughter.
Exasperated from failing to get the job done (hey, you can't fix EVERYTHING, okay Dad? Let it go.), he closed to door on me, as if straight out of a cheesy scene where door is slammed shut.
"Do you want me to lock the door, Dad?" I asked as I got out.
"Yeah," he said.
"Hey, we tried our best. And come on, I couldn't help it. The sound was too funny."
"Thats not funny I'm trying to fix the door, and all you can do is laugh!"
"We tried, okay? Let it go."
"You're crazy. A crazy guy." I'm crazy and funny. He's just funny and stubborn. That's where I got my angry genes from: my Dad.
"That's why I take my medication, Dad. That's why I take my medication."
Res assured, LiftMaster, we will get a Doctor to repair that cable. But it was painfully cleae that the garage door would be out of commission for a while.
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