Lileks' description of an all-too-familiar experience

Have to pick up Child™ from school. I leave early, because I assume – quite naturally – that if I am one minute late Hannibal Lecter will chloroform and kidnap my precious child. I hop in the car, hit the garage door button, turn on the radio, buckle up, check the rear-view mirror – blue sky. All systems go. Put the car in reverse, and JONK

All systems stop. That’s really the only term that sums up the sound of a vehicle slamming into a garage door: JONK. I get out. The door stuck 7/8ths of the way up. It cannot be budged. Wishing to compound my stupidity, I push the button again; the motor screams, smokes and dies. Let’s recap! I’ve busted the door, bent the rails, dented my hatchback, and destroyed the opener! Huzzah! Let’s complete the festivities by setting my hair on fire with hundred dollar bills! A repairman was summoned, and managed to exude bemused contempt waves without speaking; if you’d held up an Etch-A-Sketch behind his head, the words YOU FREAKIN’ IDIOT would have appeared on the screen.

What’s worse: I did this before. Last December. It’s a new tradition! All sing: Barreling barreling through the door, Christmas time is coming. Barreling barreling one time more, Christmas time is coming. Dredge ye out the pages Yellow / cut a check to workman fellow/ Ding dong ding dong . . . LECTER HAS YOUR DAUGHTER.