I am just not one of those guys. You know, like in the movie Six Days and Six Nights. The actress asks, “You’re one of those guys aren’t you? You know, the kind that can build a shopping mall with a flashlight and a screwdriver?” The dialogue goes something like that.

I am not one of those guys.

I was in a hurry this morning. There were places to go and people to see. So, I was somewhat surprised when my garage door wouldn’t open. I pushed on it again. It opened about three inches. Several boxes of wine had fallen during the night and were now wedge between the door and my car. I tried to force my way in, but the door would only open two inches. The garage door opener was programmed into the rear view mirror of my car. I went and got a flashlight and a screwdriver. What else could I do? On the way back to the garage I ran into my dog Bogie.
“I suppose there is no way you would be willing to take these keys, start the car, and push the fancy garage door opener built into the rear view mirror with your nose, would you? I know where there is a biscuit.”
Bogie just walked away.

I noticed Rodger, my neighbor's eight year old who was just heading off to school. I tried to convince him that with luck his head might just squeeze through the garages only window. Rodger looked more sympathetic than Bogie. “Sorry, I’d like to help you but I am late.” Rodger just walked away.

I looked at the screwdriver and the flashlight. Now what? I got another great idea. I called the woman who stays in my house when I am gone. She has the spare garage opener.

“Have you left for work?” I asked sheepishly.
“Why?” she asked.
I explained about the wine boxes.
“Can’t you open the door a little bit?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I answered. I was frustrated that I had to explain all this. “But, not enough to fit through.”
“Well, just put your hand in there and hit the button.”
“Huh,” I answered. “You are not getting it,” I said. The button is in the car.”
“There is a button right next to the door,” she answered. “I will hold while you try it.”

I walked back to the garage door, my shoulders and head drooping in defeat. I pushed my fingers through the door and found the button. Maybe it is time to commit me. Maybe I am okay. Maybe I am just forgetting things about the house because I am on the road more than I am at home. I never can find the garlic press anymore. Then again, maybe I just want to be one of those guys. Always ready to fix anything or build a shopping mall with just a flashlight and a screwdriver.

“Thanks,” I said.