The flower driver always welcome





Steve Martaindale is a self-syndicated columnist. Write him at penmanmail-steve@yahoo. com and check out his online blog at Main-

Steve Martaindale is a self-syndicated columnist. Write him at penmanmail-steve@yahoo. com and check out his online blog at Main-

Almost three months into my latest adventure – delivering flowers for a living – and having put one of the two major floral holidays behind me – Valentine’s Day, with Mother’s Day being the other – I feel prepared to offer a peek into the job.

As I told co-workers at my last newspaper that I had secured a job delivering flowers (you might remember I resigned there without having a new job so I could move back home), I often quipped, “People don’t fuss at you when you’re handing them flowers.”

They knew well what I meant. Working in a newsroom opens one up to continual criticism. One simply cannot please everyone. In fact, to do the job correctly, reporters and editors often do not attempt to please anyone. That means there are plenty of people to complain about what you’ve done or not done, to attempt to coerce you to do or not do something, and to offer hollow praise for something you did or did not do.

Add the fact you’re steadily having to do more with less and, as my former coworkers knew, it can become tiring.

Delivering flowers, on the other hand, pleases almost everyone you meet.

The best are those times the recipient is caught off-guard.

I walked into a JP’s office the day before Valentine’s and a young clerk stated calmly to an older man behind the counter that someone sent her flowers … yawn.

However, when she learned they actually were for her, she went into giggly mode, “They’re for me? Nobody’s ever sent me flowers. They’re really for me?”

What is particularly fun is walking into an office and having all of the women stop what they’re doing and look at you. Well, first they look at the flowers, then they look at you, awaiting the announcement. I often pause for suspense and then say, “I’m looking for Jessica.”

“Oh, Jessica, they’re beautiful … who are they from … are you sure they’re not for me?”

My favorite moment so far was nothing quite like that.

The delivery was to a young woman working in a small country store several miles out of town. I carried the large arrangement up a wooden ramp and through a screen door and saw two women inside. The one whom I soon confirmed as the recipient was behind the counter near the door. The other was sitting on a stool a ways back.

When I entered, the two looked at me and then at each other. The looks on their faces said it all: “Dang right that sorry son-of-a-gun had better send you flowers.”

I could be wrong, but it seemed quite clear.

Not all of the deliveries are for happy occasions. Many are to mortuaries and churches for funerals. I usually make multiple deliveries to local hospitals every day. Even so, they send a positive message that someone is thinking of you and cares about you in your illness or loss.

Really, the only sad delivery was to an older woman shortly before Christmas.

The large plant was from her daughter, the woman said.

“She does this every year. I don’t know why. If she really wanted to be helpful, she could just send money.”

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