Chapter 5
Don’t let the tall weeds cast a shadow on the beautiful flowers in your garden.
—Steve Maraboli
As Claire sat in the first breakout circle, the leader, Jim Something-or-other, pointed to her. “You’re Claire Murphy, right?” he asked, startling her out of her brooding over her birthday.
She was so surprised he knew her name that all she could do was nod.
Jim Something told Claire to play the role of a flower worker while he played the customer. Disappointing. Claire could do an excellent job if she played the role of the customer, because she’d had a great deal of experience with them. Crazy stories!
People sent flowers for all kinds of reasons. Like the one where old Mr. Miller got drunk late one night, wandered into his neighbor’s house, and fell asleep on the couch. He startled awake to the sound of a rifle cocking. He had landed on Widow Dosker’s couch, a woman who believed in shooting first and asking questions later. Fortunately, Widow Dosker was renowned for being a poor shot, and she ended up hitting a large potted plant. Mr. Miller jumped off the sofa and ran out the door. He felt he should send flowers to apologize for his accidental break-in. Claire listened to his whole story and said, “Well, there’s no better way to apologize than with flowers. For this situation, I’d recommend blue hyacinths. They express sincere remorse.”
“I was thinking red roses.”
“Well,” Claire said, “that would send a sincere message. Red roses convey romantic love.”
Mr. Miller’s bloodshot eyes went wide. “I have no romantic feelings for Widow Dosker.”
“Exactly. That’s why I’d go with hyacinths.”
As Claire wrapped a bow around the hyacinths, she noticed a fiddle-leaf fig pot in the corner of the store that hadn’t sold. “May I suggest you send a new potted plant too?”
Mr. Miller happily agreed. He would’ve sent anything to appease Widow Dosker. She was a prickly neighbor.
That reminded Claire of another customer who had sent flowers to his ex-wife on the day their divorce was finalized. He had asked for a spiky cactus to represent his ex-wife’s personality. Claire talked him out of that grim notion (she knew his ex-wife! knew everybody’s business in Sunrise, North Carolina) and into an arrangement that expressed his emotions today. A new, hopefully wonderful chapter of life was about to start for him. After all, this was not only a day of endings but of new beginnings. She suggested blazing hot orange blooms of birds-of-paradise, large yellow cymbidium orchids, and long stems of Safari Sunset Leucadendron. She arranged them carefully in a large glass cube vase lined with a ti leaf. Astonishing. The delighted customer thanked her profusely. He left the shop with a lightness in his step.
That might have been one of her all-time favorite customer moments. It wasn’t often that flowers were meant to convey a negative message. Those were just some of her unusual customer stories. She had more. “Couldn’t I play the customer?”
Frowning, Jim Something shook his head. He told Claire to respond to him as a customer the way she normally would. “Just the way you do at your shop.”
“Right,” Claire said. “Shoot.”
Jim Something leaned forward in his folding chair. “I’d like to order a dozen yellow carnations.”
“That’s it? That’s the best you’ve got?”
A puzzled look came over Jim Something’s stern face. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Claire said, “if you’re trying to create a realistic role-play, then my customers like to explain why they’re ordering flowers.”
“That’s true,” Sophie said. “Mine do too.”
“Yeah,” another woman agreed. “Customers think they need to tell you everything.”
“Right?” Claire said. It was nice to hear from other floral stylists.
Jim Something seemed slightly exasperated. “Fine, fine. It’s my girlfriend’s birthday. She said she wants yellow carnations.”
Claire’s eyebrows shot up, her eyes wide. “Your girlfriend asked for yellow carnations?”
“Yes.”
“Does she know much about flowers?”
He coughed a laugh. “She knows everything about flowers. She’s a wealth of information.”
“Oh boy.”
“What’s wrong now?” Jim Something’s annoyance was growing. “Don’t tell me your shop is out of yellow carnations.”
“We have yellow carnations. The thing is ... if your girlfriend knows flowers—”
“She does.”
“—then she is sending you a very clear message.”
“She’s what?”
“Flowers convey meanings,” Claire said. “Yellow carnations represent disappointment or rejection. Most likely, a breakup is imminent.”
Jim Something paused, considering her remark before rejecting it. “That is rubbish.”
Claire shook her head. “It’s not rubbish. It’s historical. It comes from the Victorian age.” She tipped her head. “Are you not in the flower industry?” If not, why was he here?
“Yes, of course I am. Perhaps you’ve heard of us. Turner Flowers.”
Sophie looked at him, awestruck. “You’re part of Turner Flowers?” The entire circle gasped, all together, as if they suddenly discovered they were in the presence of royalty.
Grinning, he puffed out his chest, nearly bursting his shirt buttons. “I sure am. Jim Turner. Third-generation florist.”
Sophie broke out in song. “‘Turn her day around with Turner Flowers.’”
Ick.That annoying song. Claire couldn’t stand it. It was the kind of tune that got stuck in your head. “I never understood that ditty.”
“I composed it.” He gave Claire a look. “What’s wrong with it?”
Well, he asked. “Your commercial makes the assumption that only women would want to receive flowers.”
He scoffed. “Because most of our customers are women.” He looked around the circle, making eye contact with each attendee.
Claire got the impression that it was a strategy, a way to get everyone on his side. When did this turn into a battle? “Men like flowers too.”
Jim Turner didn’t seem to agree. “Turner Flowers knows who our customers are. Three generations of success.”
Claire tipped her head. “And you don’t know the language of flowers?”
“Flowers do not speak. I’ve heard about that language of flowers hullabaloo. Old-fashioned nonsense. You’re just creating an illusion for your customers with all that mumbo jumbo about flowers and messages. Flowers are just flowers.”
Claire’s eyes went wide in disbelief. “Flowers are not just flowers!”
Jim Turner narrowed his eyes. “Is this how you work with your customers?”
Oh, so now he was back to the role-playing exercise. Fine. Back they’d go. “I might suggest sending two-toned carnations. They’re a symbol of parting.”
Jim Turner’s face was starting to turn red. “Look, I came into your shop to send flowers to my girlfriend for her birthday. Something you’re making very difficult. And you are making me—your customer—extremely uncomfortable.”
“I’m trying to help. I don’t want you to be surprised when your girlfriend dumps you.”
“Flowers are just flowers! People like them because they like them. They’re pretty. They smell good. End of story.” At this point, Jim Turner rose, pushed his chair back, and glowered at Claire. “It’s very clear to me why you have been sent to customer service rehab.” With that, he left the circle.
Why did everyone keep referring to this conference as customer service rehab? This was supposed to be a conference designed to help flower stylists round out their skills. To prepare them so they could eventually own a shop one day. “He’s kidding, right?”
“He’s not kidding,” Sophie said. “My boss told me that I had one more chance to improve or I’d be let go.” She looked around the circle. “What about y’all?”
“Same.” A man nodded. “I’ve been put on probation.”
Customer service rehab. Well, didn’t that just beat all.