Beware the walking sticks!
We are known as a nation of queuers. Despite most of our lives being conducted on-line there are still times when we need to physically go somewhere and do something. This usually involves a queue. We wait, more or less patiently. Sometimes mumbling and grumbling under our breath but on the whole happy to wait our turn. Pushers in are either glared and tutted at or, depending on your level of bravery, admonished with a “Excuse me. There is a queue!”
All of this flies out of the window at my bus stop. Not the one from the village but the one back from town. It’s a rural bus service so it runs once every two hours. You have to get on it or else you’re stuck.
|The village bus stop – no queues here just fields and the occasional cow!|
The passengers are mainly elderly. But don’t be fooled, these are not your run of the mill, sweet, grey haired, little old ladies. These are vicious, ninja style grannies with well-honed skills!
Firstly they work as a pack. Crowding around the front of the bus stop they form an impenetrable barrier, excluding the young-un’s from the inner circle. It doesn’t matter if you get there before them, they will slowly but surely edge you out.
Oh, and to clarify, to them a young-un is anyone under 50 or with their own teeth. I may be a 30 year old wife and mother but to them I am knee high to a grasshopper.
But when the bus comes it’s every man for themselves! Boarding is not a sedate, polite affair. Manners are thrown out of the window, toes are stepped on and shopping bags used as missiles. A well positioned walking stick can fell the opposition for the prized seat with both a pole and a bell!
I have learnt to stand back and wait. As much as it annoys me and I don’t really think it’s fair, I don’t particularly want to have to explain away the bruises. No one would believe me!