What Sunday Mornings Are For

Man decided that 8 am on Sunday morning was an excellent time to take apart Wilbur's door.  There has been a sloshing sound in his door every time it rained recently, so Hon wants to check it out and see if there was any rust.  He says it shouldn't be too hard and he has all the tools he needs.

Thirty minutes later, Hon calls and asks if I mind going down to South Philly.  He's gotten the cover of the door off, but now he needs socket wrenches.  Right.  I start getting ready.  Twenty minutes pass and, wondering why he hasn't come back into the apartment, I call him back.

"Oh, I'm waiting for you in the car.  I rolled the window down and can't roll it back up."  Right.  This also meant he couldn't roll my window down.  The poor guy had the AC despite the open window to prevent us from melting in the sun.

On the way over I cheer myself up with the thought: at least the Old Man can help now.  Man laughs and reminds me that the Old Man will just look over his shoulder, tell him he's doing it wrong and shake his head before disappearing for a cigarette.

Right.  I can't really argue with that, so we park.  I help Man as he undoes the bolts, removes the window motor--don't let that spool unfurl!--and check for rust.  My job in the entirety of this was to keep track of bolts, hold the Spool of Doom in place and pray.  What is, a Spool of Doom, you might ask?  I can only venture that it has something to do with the window.

But for those who are not mechanics, we just know that it is that white circle in the middle of the door.  And that it can spontaneously unfurl causing a great deal of mayhem and tears.

Wilbur turns out to be free of rust and just a little clogged.  Pipe cleaners are the car version of tissues, and now his door drains are clear. 

Oh, and the Old Man?  He does pretty much exactly as expected.  Though after disappearing, he reappears in the garden deck above us and rains down a few flowers.  His way of helping the situation.