A forgotten bus pass, a firm policy, and a split-second decision, sometimes, the right call isn’t about rules but recognising potential. When a determined teenager sprinted off instead of arguing, I saw more than just a fare dodger. And that changed everything.
When the Right Decision Isn’t in the Rulebook
It’s that feeling of uncertainty when you have to make a call, unsure whether the outcome will benefit the bottom line or cause more problems down the road. For us on the buses, it’s often about protecting the revenue, standing firm on policies, and not letting a chancer slip through the cracks. But let’s be honest, sometimes the line between being firm and being reasonable is thinner than you think.
There are days when a decision feels like a loss. You know, the kind where you stick to the rulebook, yet something doesn’t sit right after the fact. It’s a hard call to make, knowing when to enforce the policy and when to offer a bit of leeway. A free ride here and there might not seem like much, but if you let it slide once, the floodgates open. And once the floodgates open, well, you’ll be fighting a constant battle to keep everything in check. It’s a balancing act of fairness, policy, and common sense.
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| football practice |
So, on this particular day, I found myself on that very tightrope, struggling to get the balance right. The kid at the stop was a prime example of the kind of situation that makes it so difficult.
There he was, standing tall at the bus stop, looking fit as a fiddle. He wasn’t the usual scruffy teenager trying to blag a ride, nor did he have the look of someone who needed a break. This kid was the picture of health—lean, athletic, and looking every bit ready to take on the world. He had the training gear on, trainers, shorts, and a hoodie, and he looked like he’d run a marathon before breakfast.
I did my usual check: “You got your concession card, mate?”
“Nah, forgot it,” he said casually, not sounding like he had a care in the world. Usually, this would be where the excuses started, the groaning about losing a card, or the defensive "I'm entitled to free travel" routine. But not with this kid. He just nodded, accepting the situation without protest.
“Sorry, mate. No card, no ride,” I said, keeping it firm.
And then, without missing a beat, he turned around and sprinted off down the road. And I mean sprinted, this kid could run, no doubt about it. I wasn’t expecting that at all. As I pulled away, I glanced at him through the mirrors, still hammering it down the street, looking like he was in a hurry to get somewhere important.
I continued my journey, passing a few more stops. I was ahead now, but only by a little. It wasn’t so much a race, this kid was just on his game, moving with purpose. I honked the horn as I passed him, a little gesture, a friendly acknowledgment. He looked up, eyes wide, and caught sight of me in the bus, his chest heaving as he took a breath.
“Oi, you off to football practice, son?” I called out.
“Yeah,” he said, a little surprised, but still grinning. He looked the part, his trainers, his football strip, it all made sense.
“You’ll burn yourself out going at that pace, lad. I know you're keen to get there, but jump on,” I said. “Save your legs for the training session. You’ve still got a few stops ahead, catch your breath.”
His face lit up with a huge smile. No hesitation, just pure relief. Without a second thought, he jogged up the bus steps, his grin stretching from ear to ear as he hopped on.
The rest of the journey had a different vibe to it. You could feel the change in the air. He was sitting near the front, still catching his breath but beaming with that infectious energy. You could tell he was eager, full of life, and he wasn’t going to let a minor setback get him down.
As we neared the stop where he was getting off, he stood up, still smiling, and turned towards me.
“I’ll hop off here, mate,” he said, with a cheeky wink.
I couldn’t help but grin back. “I like your style, son,” I said as he jumped off, watching him bound down the road with the same determination that had impressed me earlier.
And with that, he was gone. That moment, that exchange, was enough to make me realise I’d made the right call after all. It wasn’t just about the revenue, or sticking rigidly to the rules, it was about recognising potential, about seeing someone with the drive and determination to push themselves further, and offering a bit of encouragement along the way. Sometimes, that’s the decision that matters most.
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