Four classes back to back to back to back and all I wanted was to get home. First though, I needed to gas up the car. I did.
And then the car wouldn't start. The key fob just stopped working.
The temperature was in the teens (with bitter, biting winds), so I fiddled with the key fob, then scooted into the gas station looking for fob batteries (they didn’t have them) and then tried to get warm. I was piteously warming my frozen fingers on the side of the coffee maker when this woman with a gigantic, Kardashian sized ring asked me what was up. I thought she wanted me to move along. And I will forever be ashamed that I thrust my chin out mutinously, thinking mean thoughts about her, and told her I was trying to fix my key fob.
After that, she just took over. She found her reading glasses, pried the fob apart, and found some button cell batteries from old Christmas decorations, replaced the battery, checked it from the gas station window, gave me hug, and sent me on my way.
I got her name so I can take her a card and some pastries tomorrow, but it doesn’t feel like I can ever thank her enough.