THE SPIRIT(S) OF THE SEASON

Silent night

The older woman’s packages — probably Christmas gifts — were on the wet ground beside her SUV when he approached his car at Hamilton Place mall last week. Her driver’s side door was aligned with his, preventing him from entering his car.

She was bent over, fumbling with her key fob, and it was evident if he’d walked up she would have been startled. What to do?

Instead, he walked around his car and approached from the side she was facing. If he said, “Excuse me, this is my car,” he might have been in the vehicle and out of the area in mere moments. But that wasn’t the right thing to do at Christmas time or any other time of year.

“Can I help you in any way?” he asked, hoping not to be seen as a potential mugger. “This is my car, but I’d be glad to help you.” “I can’t get into my car,” she said. “The key won’t work.” He said something about remote key fobs, about his brother having to replace one and about their being rather expensive. She handed him her keys for him to have a look.

He looked at the key fob, then looked at her door, which could be unlocked the old-fashioned way, using the key. How to say it diplomatically?

“I think,” he said, “you might be able to unlock it the regular way with the key.”

He handed her the keys, she tried one in the door and unlocked it. She looked at him, sheepish but grateful.

He shrugged, smiled and got in his car, where, after more than six years, he still didn’t know how to operate all the buttons and toggles.

Nevertheless, all was calm, all was bright.