I pulled into Target’s covered parking. It seemed like a much needed breath of NORMALCY. Things were unusually chaotic in my household and buying new underwear was something small I could do for myself.

My upstairs neighbor had some issues with how her toilet was seated and, unbeknownst to her, the line which fed her hallway bathroom toilet had to be shut off until repairs could be made. Apparently, it had been leaking for some time and only became noticeable when a sizable crack developed. The bathroom ceiling in my condo had to come down due to water damage.

While financial liability might take a while for our insurance companies to sort out, I got a crew here to clean and dry the space between our units to take care of potential mold.

My insurance carrier told me to start the mitigation but not to drywall the ceiling and finish the repair in my unit until the new toilet had been installed upstairs and we could verify the leaking problem had been resolved. Bottom line for me: my washer/dryer has been in the hallway for well over a week, and I don’t have a date when normal appliance access will be restored.

Hence, the trip to Target for new panties. Freshening up your supply of undergarments is always a good thing to do, but the excursion seemed almost urgent as I didn’t have normal laundry access.

When I drove into the structure, I was careful not to park in spots reserved for pick-up (a rule established during COVID years that’s never been changed back).

I pulled my key out of the ignition and — and damn if the key did not slip between the driver’s seat and the console.

For the most part, I knew the general area where the key had fallen, but I couldn’t get to it.

I stepped in and out of my Toyota several times to try for a better view if not a better angle for retrieving the key. I tried reaching for the key from the back seat and from the passenger seat. I moved the seats in every possible direction to get them out of the way. But, no…

I was not only unable to drive, I was afraid the car door would lock behind me, and I wouldn’t even be able to get into my car. I could not see the key, but I knew where it disappeared. I wondered if my mind was failing. I paced around the perimeter of my car.

I didn’t want to end up in some teen’s social media reel or in some nextdoor.com report of a crazy lady wandering around the Target parking lot on Peterson —

Then I saw a Hispanic woman and her pre-teen daughter heading towards a nearby neutral colored SUV. The daughter looked kind of bored but probably was thinking about what she might haul in from this shopping trip  Even though her mom did the driving, being more fluent in English than her parent, I imagined, she often felt like the caretaker of the family.

I must have looked pretty hopeless as I made my appeal to them.

“My car key, it’s black at the widest part, it fell between my car seat and the console. I know about where it fell. But I guess my hands are too big. Maybe I don’t see so good either.  Can you help me get the key?”

The daughter understood. She poked her head into the front of my car, and, after a few minutes, she handed me my car key.

Above the mother’s protests that such a thank you gesture was not necessary, I scoured my purse for small denomination currency and pulled out a fiver. I handed it to the daughter. “For your troubles.” I said. ”Thank you.”

I contemplated this exchange in the Target parking lot, unexpectedly occurring and saving me from a far longer and more difficult evening. I was so grateful that they talked to me, especially in an area that’s seen its share of ICE raids, that they were willing to talk and help a stranger.

That the girl had small hands and good eyesight and understood what was needed.

I smiled as I drove home muttering, “It takes all kinds,” I guess.

All kinds as in people with small hands, large hands, a willingness to ask for help. All kinds as in children and seniors, working parents, men and women. The world needs people with all different kinds of skills and attributes. I marveled at how a child’s perspective came to my rescue.

Remembering that a challenge is a puzzle to be worked on with others, not assumed to be a power struggle, is no small thing.

Re-printed with permission.

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