A Questionable Flora

This is a narrative essay that I had to write for my English Lit class in college. Only guidelines were that it had to be a funny/whimsical/meaningful conversation we had with someone else.

It started off like any other day. It was bright and sunny outside and warm and balmy inside the greenhouse. I had been wandering around, watering anything that looked dry and thirsty.  This was the ideal summer job.  I loved being surrounded by the visual magnificence of all the different plants and flowers, not to mention the sweetly scented ambience.  

Suddenly, the melodic tinkling of the door bell floated into my senses and pulled me away from the far off place my mind had taken me to.  I quickly ran to the front of the store, ready to offer my assistance, if needed. She turned towards me and, as I offered her a sweet smile, I uttered, “Hi! Is there anything I can help you find today?”

With a very confused look on her broad face, she furrowed her brow and replied, “Yes. I’m looking for a freaking violet. Do you have any?”

At this point I had become very confused myself. Did she just say a freaking violet? Well, that’s certainly a bit brash for floral speak! So, unable to really respond to that, I simply stated, “We have many varieties of violets, Ma’am. Why don’t I show you around and maybe you will find what you are looking for.”

She smiled; a look of relief was spread across her face. In a soft, slightly lilted southern drawl, she replied, “Thanks, sugar. I’d appreciate that!”

She grasped me firmly by the upper forearm and I lead her around the dewy confines of the greenhouse. Sporadically, a cavalcade of “ooohs” and “ahhhs” burst forth from her mouth as I showed her through the tropical houseplants.  

As we finally made our way to the violets, I stopped abruptly and felt her large frame collide into me briefly. Turning quickly to make sure she was alright, I noticed her eyes locked onto a group of plants at the end of the row. 

“Are you ok, Ma’am?” I asked. 

She nodded slowly, and spoke dreamily, “That’s it! Those are exactly what I want!” Her arm outstretched, as she pointed her long fingers towards a small group of African violets. 

I nodded back to her, acknowledging her statement, and lead her over to the rack of violets. She picked up one of the dainty flowers and gazed longingly into the dark green foliage.  Her fingers gently caressed the light purple petals, as every last detail seemed to make her tired eyes sparkle.

“I have been looking for these everywhere,” she said, “and you’re the first place to have any.”

As she continued looking over the tag tucked neatly inside the pot, she shook her head back and forth, causing her dark brown curls to bounce around the top of her head. I noticed her dismay and asked, “Is something wrong?”

She nodded a bit, and said, “See here? They’re clearly marked! It says a freaking violet!”

I raised an eyebrow at her, and couldn’t help but giggle. I took the tag in my hands, and wiped off the dirt covering up the latter half of the label. Knowing that she’d probably be embarrassed by the verbal mishap, I chose to keep it to myself. 

She gathered a few more things, and followed me back to the counter to pay for her items. Before she left, she thanked me again for all my help. As I watched her pull away from the store, I giggled again to myself. Then, gathering up the seedlings I had been working on before her arrival, I went back to transplanting the African Violets, making sure to replace the ones she had bought.