The Day Inexperience Spoke Up
It was a crisp Thursday afternoon in Greenstone. The autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves from the old trees lining High Street, and the Gosp River murmured in the distance. The bus stop by the Stone Bridge had been busier than usual since Trailblazers Valley, the international company, brought more workers to the area.
At 4:30 PM, around fifteen people were waiting. Jack Morrison, the confident mechanic who’d fixed countless breakdowns in town; Sarah Chen, the nurse from Greenstone Medical Centre, trained for emergencies; Robert Hayes, ex-military and now head of security at Trailblazers Valley; and Emma Walsh—seventeen, small, bespectacled, working part-time at the bookshop, known more for poetry than confrontation.
The trouble began when Derek Mason staggered into view. Once a friendly neighbour, he’d been spiralling since losing his job months earlier. Today, he was flushed, unsteady, and loud.
“Where’s that bloody bus?!” he yelled. “Useless! This whole town’s useless!”
People shifted uncomfortably. Jack checked his phone. Sarah took a step back. Robert stayed still, arms crossed.
Then Derek kicked a rubbish bin so hard it slammed into the pavement with a metallic crash, making several people flinch. His eyes scanned the crowd before locking on Mrs. Patterson, an elderly woman at the edge of the group.
“You think you’re better than me, don’t you?” he barked, stomping toward her. His gestures were sharp and unpredictable, his face inches from hers. Mrs. Patterson shrank back until her shoulders pressed against the shelter wall.
Jack thought, Robert should handle this. He’s trained.
Robert thought, Jack knows him. He’ll step in.
Sarah thought, I’m a nurse, not a negotiator. What if I make it worse?
And so, nothing happened.
Later, a psychologist might have called it the bystander effect—the paralysis that strikes groups when everyone assumes someone else will act. In a crowd, responsibility scatters until it feels like it belongs to no one.
Meanwhile, Derek’s voice was growing harsher, his arm swinging dangerously close to Mrs. Patterson’s face.
That was when Emma stepped forward.
“Derek,” she said, her voice barely audible but enough to make him turn.
“What did you say?” His words were a challenge, but there was a flicker of surprise.
Emma’s hands shook, but she didn’t retreat. “You’re Derek Mason. Last winter… you helped my mum when her car wouldn’t start. It was snowing. You stayed out there for ages until it worked.”
The crowd watched, stunned.
“You didn’t know us,” Emma continued, “but you still helped. My mum said Greenstone has good people. You were one of them.”
His brows knitted. “That blue Corsa… yeah, I remember.”
“She still talks about it,” Emma said, inching closer.
It was like watching a balloon lose air. Derek’s shoulders dropped. His hands fell to his sides. He turned back to Mrs. Patterson, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m sorry. I scared you.”
Mrs. Patterson nodded, still shaken but no longer cornered. Derek muttered something about going home and walked away.
The tension dissolved. The bus arrived moments later, and people filed on in near silence.
On board, Jack said to Emma, “That was… impressive.”
Emma adjusted her glasses. “I was terrified. But everyone was waiting, and Mrs. Patterson looked like she might faint. Someone had to say something.”
Sarah frowned. “But why you?”
Emma shrugged. “Maybe because I realised no one else was going to. Everyone was thinking about why someone else should act. But that’s how the bystander effect works—it convinces you that your inaction is fine because someone more capable will step in. Until they don’t... and also, because I thing that I have no prestige to lose, you know what I mean”
That evening, the story travelled through Greenstone’s pubs and cafés. People discussed courage without realising they were also talking about psychology—the way groups can freeze, the way responsibility can vanish into the crowd. And how, in that moment, the quietest person at the bus stop became the one who broke the spell.
Not because she was the strongest, or the most skilled. But because she refused to keep waiting.
Toni Font, Aberdeen 13/08/2025
