The Grumpy Old Lady at the Bus Stop
a tale of bitterness and speed bumps
The car slowed to a gentle roll as the driver worked to navigate around the signage.
“Slow! Children!” the two signs screamed. You know the sort: the little yellowish silhouette stick figures holding orange flags. The whole lot of us parents at the bus stop had gone in on them, purchasing two in our ongoing efforts to temper the screeching speeds of every single car that races past our bus stop.
Listen, I get it—morning commutes suck. No one likes them; no one wants to spend a second more participating in them than necessary. But we’ve got twenty kids at this T-shaped intersection, and this is a residential street with not one but two speed bumps on it. So, if you’re clearing thirty miles an hour, you’re not only doing something wrong but you’re also getting some sick air on at least one of those aforementioned speed bumps and I mean, have a little thought for your tires if not for our—and I can’t emphasize this enough—twenty children.
Anyway.
Elianna and I stood there at the bus stop observing this middle-aged woman carefully navigate the signage and we thought to ourselves, “Hey, great! Success. That’s a reasonable speed resulting from our reasonable community action. Win-win-win.”
Except the lady rolled down her window and yelled—not to us, mind you, she was still facing front and center, and we were well to your right—“These signs are so stupid. You all are idiots!” She lingered for a moment, and then off she sped.
Wow, I thought. “Wow,” Elianna said. “Wow is right,” we agreed. We shared a chuckle and rolled our eyes and committed—without saying a word—to share this particular anecdote to anyone within ear shot.
But I thought, too: I should have said something. I shouldn’t have let her get away with that nonsense. There was a moment, after all. I could have yelled something back. I could have given her a taste of her own grumpy medicine, reminded her that this is a bus stop and that keeping kids safe should be our top priority, that we’ve witnessed no shortage of cars—and buses, in fact—come tearing down this quiet street as though they’d lost all willingness to press on the brake. I could’ve said a lot of things; I could’ve said them loudly. I could’ve stood up for our little band of parents who quite wisely put up these signs.
And yet I didn’t.
And I kicked myself for it.
All I did was smile and let her go.
Elianna and I did tell everyone that story—individually to each individual, so we really mastered the tale by the time the bus arrived. Other parents were enraged, ready to give chase, wondering who she was, what her license plate read, if we’d recognized her or would recognize her if given the chance. What did you say to her, Eric? they asked. Oh, nothing, I said.
Stupid.
But then one of the dads, a buddy of mine, said to Elianna, “You know—your dad got it right. I would’ve yelled and screamed and given her a piece of my mind. But your dad let it go, just laughed. Who do you think had the right idea, Elianna?” he asked. “Your dad.”
Perhaps. Perhaps it was cowardice or paralysis or inhibition that shown through. Or perhaps it was an instinct of peace, of patience, of compassion. Perhaps I taught Elianna something that morning, something that I myself am still learning.
Perhaps we need to give even the grumpiest of strangers a little grace. Perhaps we need to smile and laugh and share stories. Perhaps we don’t need to immediately raise our fists and our voices to prove that we care.
It’s a good story, anyway. We’ve told it more than a few times. But I’m still chewing on the moral.
And another thing:
- has written a stirring essay, “Rome,” that really demonstrates what it means to exercise a Catholic imagination. Can’t recommend reading it enough. Check it out.
The legendary
has started a new series over at all about reflecting on art that has helped us get through hard times. He kicks things off with the great , so obviously you’ll want to read that.This past week marked the one month release anniversary of “Finding Peace Here and Now: How Ignatian Spirituality Leads Us to Healing and Wholeness.” I offered a Zoom workshop retreat on creativity and peace to celebrate—you can access that for free here—and I’d also really appreciate stars and/or reviews of the book on Amazon, Barnes & Noble or wherever you may have purchased your copy! What’s that? You haven’t grabbed one yet? Well just click here then…
you got it right. goal is always to be the thermostat not the thermometer. i need to be more thermostat 🙃
Eric, your piece resonates! I can speak from experience that silence was a strong and admirable approach. I unfortunately took the opposite approach in my recent past that didn’t work out well. It reminds me of 3 important questions: (1) does it need to be said? (2) does it need to be said by me? (3) does it need to be said right now? A “no” to any one of those questions usually means, “keep your mouth shut, Tony.”