Speak of nightmares! I dreamed that on a below-zero day my garage-door opener failed. Bundling myself in down until I looked like a Green Bay Packer fan, I braved the wind and went in through a side door. I had to remember how to pull the rope for manual lifting, all the while practicing new imprecations for the garage-door makers.
One could hear grunts by rope-pulling neighbors mixed with curses from commuters who knew they would be late for work. Calls to garage-door repairers elicited the message: “Mr. Door cannot come today. He’s had hundreds of calls.”
Some made it to Grumpy’s coffee shop near the train station, where they grumped about the decline in services. Some abandoned autos, walked past “Support our troops” signs in the parking lot, and, as they walked, listened to the radio talk shows that called critics of the war in Iraq traitors.