Be Nice

Here's a little story from my day. It involves being a grump, helping your neighbor and good karma.

So I got to school a full hour before my first class. Happily contemplating an hour of time for myself, I decided to enjoy the peace and quiet of my car. The sun was (miraculously) shining, I was warm and content. I ate the little breakfast I had brought along (this and this), re-read the chapter of history I would soon be discussing, caught up on my Facebooking, and Instagrammed this photo of the clouds overhead.

As I was basking in this lovely solitude, I realized that there was a woman in the next car, doing pretty much the same thing. Halfway through my reverie, her phone rang and she began what turned out to be a long series of calls.

Now, I had no desire to eavesdrop on her. But her windows were open, my windows were open, and let's face it, it was impossible to not hear what she was saying. From what I gathered, she was following up with her insurance company on a claim she had filed; she was definitely not happy. Sad to say, her mood affected my mood, and after 15 or 20 minutes of this, I was feeling a little grumpy myself. Not proud of that fact, but it's true.

Then she tried to start her car, and I heard the unmistakable gasp of an engine with a dead battery.

Oh great. 

I was fully aware of the fact that I was in possession of a healthy battery and a set of jumper cables. My civic duty was clear. 

But as I sat there in the sunshine, trying to work up the goodwill to spring from my car and offer her assistance, I realized that in all honesty, I did not feel like helping her. I didn't want to deal with the whole which-one-is-positive-the-red-or-the-black jumper cable dilemma, I didn't want to get my hands dirty, I didn't want to have to rush into class at the last minute because I used my last few moments of me-time to do a good deed.

Then I realized that I was thinking like a wicked little brat, and I felt bad about it. But I still didn't want to help her. I seriously considered slinking out the passenger-side door and sneaking away. 

At this point, my neighbor was out of her car, trying to open her hood. She was fumbling around, unable to find the little latch, taking tips from her husband who was trying to talk her though the process via phone. Well, I thought, at least I can help with that. Hood latches are no big deal.

So I gathered up my purse, schoolbag, keys, and other belongings, joined her on the curb, dumped my stuff down to free up my hands, and in fairly short order, got her hood open. She was very grateful.

Warming a tiny bit to my task, I offered to help her with a jump, but she pointed down to our feet, and I saw that she had one of those do-it-yourself jump starter thingys. Oh. Well. So much for all my selfish drama. I left her to her work and gathering up my pile of possessions, headed off to class. 

That was the end of it. Or so I thought.

Hours later, as I was walking back to my car at the end of my day, I began to fumble around inside my bag in my daily search for my keys. As my hand explored this pocket and that, finding no keys, and my firm shake of the bag produced no jingle, I got that panicked feeling that I had done something very stupid. 

My concerns amplified as I approached my car. From a distance, I could see that someone had taped a note to my window. This could not be good. I rushed up and read it twice before I realized what had happened.

"Your keys are in the Edmonds Heights office. Thank you for your help!"

Oh. I must have left my keys on the sidewalk, where I dumped my stuff when I was helping to unlatch that woman's hood. And thankfully, she noticed them there, and ran them into the school office, thoughtfully leaving this note for me so I could find them and carry on.

As I walked to the office, I realized anew how much it matters that we help each other in this life. I had worked myself into a bratty little internal tantrum over the thought of helping her jump her car, but in reality, she didn't even need my help with that. Instead, it was just a quick flip of my fingers under the edge of her hood that made all the difference for her. In return, she so kindly and graciously took my lost keys to a place of safety, and left me a nice note to help me track them down. She even thanked me again.

So I want to say this: Thank you, mad insurance-claim lady, for teaching me an important lesson. In the end, you helped me with something much more important than a tricky hood latch or even a set of lost keys. You reminded me to be nice.