Helping Hand

When I got to school this afternoon to pick up the boys, Ms. Principal was standing with her keys in her hand and a scowl on her face. I assumed it was not a child she was irritated with because she was aimed outside. I, being on friendly terms with the lady, asked if she needed anything. Turns out, she wanted to use her remote start on her car but the buses had already pulled in and she couldn't get a signal through them. And I, being bundled still, offered to go start it for her. I think she cried a bit in her thankfulness.

But, you see, the thing with my OCD is that I don't remember I have an "issue" until I am in the middle of checking and re-checking something. So when I stood next to the bus and pushed the button I saw her headlights flash. But wait! Did that I mean I unlocked the doors? Or did I lock them? Or did I actually start the car? And if I push the button again to be sure will it set off the alarm?

So I went a little closer. I thought I could hear it running. But it is a parking lot. How could I be sure that was HER car I heard? So I went a little closer. I know that is exhaust coming out, but maybe it stared and then stopped. So I had to go and touch the back of her car. And then I had to touch the hood. And lean in and listen. And stand there looking like I was molesting the principal's convertible. Unsatisfactorily, I might add.

And by the time I got back in the building Ms. Principal was back at the door with the same look on her face. And I know she was just starting to wonder if I maybe stole her Sebring. So I had to explain why the remote starter concept is sort of lost on me. (Sigh.)