The motor runs, the chain rattles along the rail, and the door does not move a millimetre. You notice the little carriage sliding back and forth on its own.
The chain hangs in a loop under the rail and slaps against it on every cycle. It used to sit snug.
The belt looks fine from a distance, but up close the rubber has cracked across the back in dozens of places and, in one spot, you can see the steel cords showing through.
You swapped the old wooden door for a heavier insulated steel one, and the twenty-year-old opener that was kept has never settled. It strains on the way up, stops partway on cold mornings, and the rail shudders with every cycle.
The door will only go down while a finger stays on the wall button; let go and it stops or reverses. From the remote it opens fine but never closes, so someone has to stand in the garage every time.
After the move, the previous owner's remotes are somewhere in another city and the keypad on the outside wall wants a code nobody wrote down. The wall button works.
The house came with a controller already screwed to the garage ceiling and a sensor on the door, but the app insists the device belongs to another account. The seller has moved provinces, the emails go unanswered, and every evening the door still reports to a stranger's phone.
A previous owner knotted the release cord around the rail and stacked storage shelves right beneath it. You only discovered this in the dark, with the power off, a flashlight in your teeth and a car that needed to be somewhere.