Skip to main content

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

By

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.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Hidden Risk Behind That Extra Shift You’re Asked to Take

By
Once you’ve clocked 9 hours in uniform, even the vending machine starts judging you. It’s not just driving time that drags, it’s everything in between. Here’s why I stick to 39 hours and refuse overtime, no matter the pressure. Introduction I’m three months into a 12-month rethink of my overtime habits. After a steady drip of minor incidents, not enough to make headlines, but enough to make me think twice, I’ve realised piling on extra hours isn’t just about padding the pay packet. It’s about keeping my focus sharp, my sanity intact, and most importantly, everyone on the road safe. I know the desk staff might be throwing me the occasional side-eye, wondering why I’m not jumping at every chance to work overtime. If only money grew on trees, I’d be first in line. But unfortunately, it doesn’t. What does grow (or at least what I’m fiercely guarding) is my peace of mind, and a scrap of sanity after years of long shifts and minimal downtime. I’m at that point in life where I’d rather enjoy ...
Post a Comment
Read more

What Drivers Think When a Bus Crashes Into a River

By
You Don’t Need to Be in the Cab to Feel It: A crash like that echoes through every depot. We weren’t there. But we know the weight of the wheel. I’m not a double deck driver. I wasn’t there. And I won’t claim to know what happened near Eastleigh yesterday, not with investigations still ongoing. But like a lot of us in the seat, I felt that cold drop in my gut. There’s something about seeing one of ours, uniformed, behind the wheel, doing the job, caught in a headline that starts with “crash” and ends with “students injured.” You feel it. Not because you know the full story (you don’t), but because you know the pressure, the road, the weight of that responsibility. Most of us go our whole careers without facing anything like that. We hope to keep it that way. But that doesn’t stop your mind from going there. Doesn't stop you wondering, What would I do? Would I have seen it coming? Could I have changed anything? The truth is, buses are heavy things. We drive them through tight spaces...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Day the Bus Carried a Quiet Medal

By
A mysterious rider boards with a quiet grin and a coin in their pocket. Something’s being celebrated, but not out loud. They boarded like they’d just been knighted at the kitchen sink, fresh-faced, wide-eyed, carrying the kind of quiet victory that doesn’t need an audience but accepts one all the same. Not loud, not showy, just… unmistakably someone who woke up today already proud of themselves. There’s a kind of walk folk do when they’ve already won the day before breakfast. It’s not quite a strut, too self-aware for that, but there’s a bounce to it. Like the pavement’s giving them a round of applause. That’s what boarded this morning. Mid-morning, not quite rush, not quite calm. Buzzing with something invisible but important. They tapped on, grinning at nobody in particular, and made the kind of eye contact that tells you they’ve got good news and absolutely no plans to keep it to themselves. I gave them the usual nod, half polite, half do we know each other? …and they leaned in slig...
Post a Comment
Read more