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The 95-Year-Old Who Stopped a Bus with a Walking Stick (And a Flash of Genius!)

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A 95-year-old’s quick thinking and a shiny walking stick turned into an unmissable signal, stopping a bus in the most unexpected way!

The Walking Stick That Stopped a Bus

I’d just turned left at the lights, making steady progress towards the next stop, a bus shelter usually teeming with shoppers. I was a minute early, cruising comfortably between timing points, when suddenly,

FLASH!

A blinding light struck my eyes from the left. One of those where-the-hell-did-that-come-from moments. My first thought? Some kid with a laser pen having a laugh. But no, there was no one there. Just the quiet pavement, behaving itself.

Then,

FLASH!

Again! Square in the eyes.

“What the…?”

And then I saw her.

A proper veteran of life, standing in the distance, furiously waving a polished metal walking stick above her head. Not just waving, wielding. The thing caught the sun at the perfect angle, firing off warning shots like a distress beacon.

Her walking aid was stretched out full length in front of her, as if sheer determination and a few extra inches of aluminium might somehow bridge the gap between her and the bus stop. I could see the future, her best efforts weren’t going to be enough.

Elderly woman waving a shiny walking stick, reflecting light like a signal.

I did some mental maths. Speed. Distance. Time. Guestimated the average velocity of a determined 95-year-old with a mission. Could she make it? Could I hold just long enough without tipping into ‘late’ territory?

It was tight.

And I got it wrong.

A few seconds later, she appeared in my side mirror, just shy of the doors. I didn’t have the heart to go.

I tapped the door release. The sound of her slightly breathless but victorious shuffle filled the front of the bus. She climbed aboard, one triumphant step at a time, flashing me a smile that could melt even the coldest driver’s heart.

As she handed me her concession card, she leaned into the little gap in the window, as if delivering classified intel.

“Ninety-five,” she whispered with a cheeky grin.

I raised my eyebrows, impressed.

“Everyone’s in too much of a hurry these days,” she added, patting my ticket machine like an old friend. “Nice to see someone still has patience.”

She made her way to her seat, still clutching her high-beam walking stick. As I set off again, I couldn’t help but think, when I hit 95, I want to be that sharp, that determined... and that well-armed.

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