I had barely tied my apron when Assistant Manager Kara invited me for a walk. “We need a clean-up,” she said as I hurried to keep up with her through the cart lobby. “Regional VP might stop by. He’s fussy about the outside.” We stood and surveyed the wreckage of broken ferns, veggie starts scattered, hanging plants still in plastic wrap.
The floral department’s floor space has tripled with spring and delivery of hundreds of outdoor plants – begonia, mandevilla, geranium, Japanese maples, potted gardenias. The number of floral clerks, however, remains the same. But I snapped a salute to Kara. In return, she flipped a big eye roll. The morning grew warmer by the minute.
Plant arrivals now are so frequent that Amanda can’t make and post signs fast enough. I went back in for a broom and the key to the water tap, and when I returned, a customer barked for a price for a flat of marigolds. I confessed ignorance and offered a price check. The customer, not highly satisfied, replied, “What’s wrong with you people?”
A truck pulled up. A stout driver alit. “You the flower lady? Aren’t you lucky! Got two racks of stuff for you,” so before addressing Kara’s worries, I unloaded 150 more plants. For lack of space, I lined them on the curb. Right behind me, a woman picked up three of the pots and wanted them gift-wrapped and boxed, immediately.
Back outside, I wrestled with the water hose and muttered a few choice words. An older man heading into the store called out, “I see you hustling! Is it better to have a job or not?” Sure, I’ll play: Yes, sir, it’s better to have a job. “Darn right!” he replied. The hose then exploded and soaked me to the skin. The regional VP never did show up.
Causes Anne Saker Supports
Freedom of thought.