Posted on 02/15/2006 9:45:01 AM PST by Pukin Dog
Yesterday, I did one of the dumbest things I will ever do in my long (but still pretty) life.
I volunteered to assist a friend of mine who owns a flower shop with his deliveries.
NEVER DO THIS.
Yesterday, I delivered flowers and other associated items to 55 separate addresses throughout San Diego County, mostly between La Jolla, Del Mar and Carlsbad. Some deliveries were to offices, but most to homes where I fought dogs, fences, gates and young children in various stages of curiosity and disgust about what I was bringing ‘mommy’ instead of to them.
I had strategically planned the day to insure that I would not be around any women who knew me, and what a perfect excuse than to be out delivering roses, candy, balloons (more about those later) and stuffed animals to other women, rather than try to live up to the expectations of a few who only love me for my credit score.
Assuming that I had been asked by my buddy to help him because he knew me to be studious and dependable would be wrong. I was chosen because I owned the biggest trucks, had the most available time, and had not already had the good sense to say NO!
The early deliveries were to gals in the office. I found out that there is a ritual to this, where the same thing happened each time I showed up with the goods. First, the loud announcement to the whole office that “the flower guy” is here, followed by a mass migration towards me by anyone in a skirt. “Oooh, who are they for?” I would give a name, and the sea of estrogen would part, to reveal the blushing recipient, while all the rest nodded at each other a kind of secret understanding that some man had just guaranteed her loyalty for another week at least, or at best until the next manufactured holiday.
At one office, I delivered three sets of roses to an office (real estate) where there were FOUR women, one was to be denied. It turned out that the three brokers all got roses from the owner of the business, but he forgot the receptionist who happened to be much cuter than the three ladies in their severe business attire. I felt bad as I walked back to my truck. I had a set of orchids from an office that were to be returned because the recipient was at home ill, so I called my buddy who allowed me to give the orchids to the receptionist. My reward was a wonderful smile.
Enough of that, because delivering flowers is very hard work. You have to drive with the knowledge that one speed bump can screw up your whole day. More than once, I heard the sickening sound of water running from a vase onto my pukin upholstery or carpeting after hitting a pot hole. I used up my supply of bottled water refilling vases that had tipped over. Today, the inside my Hummer smells like a combination of jasmine and mildew. I logged over 100 miles of surface street driving, catching Rush and Hannity in between stops. More than once, a recipient let me know that flowers alone were not going to be good enough to “pay for what he did” This was usually the case when the sir-name of the sender and receiver were the same. I wonder why that is? And then, there is the matter of those dammed balloons. Do you know what it is like to pull up to a stop light next to a pretty lady in a convertible and you want to look cool, with a dozen of those metallic balloons floating behind your head?
Then there is the matter of all these women looking down on me, because I apparently lacked the education that would have allowed me to get a better job than that of a middle-aged delivery boy. This was mostly the case when I would open the door to some very pretty woman, who’s boyfriend was clearly trying to “fix things” (you can tell by the smile/scowl as the woman signs the receipt) where had I been in my magic flight suit I might have made a move, but nobody loves the delivery boy.
I did snag a few tips, 5 dollars from a nice Nigerian lady who got a dozen yellow from her son, 3 bucks from a Hispanic woman in a retirement home, and various single bills from women apparently too overjoyed by my presence to not notice that I was not carrying a pizza. I appreciated the tips, but would have settled for directions to the cheapest gas station, since Hummers don’t do well in stop and go traffic. I swear I could see the gauge move every time I slowed down to handle a damned speed bump.
Starting at 10am with a couple of breaks, I didn’t finish until a bit after 6pm. Only the Savage Nation kept me from leaving the last of my packages by the side of the road and going home to a warm and waiting beer.
A few observations for guys:
Women don’t seem to care how elaborate the arrangement you buy her, if you just get something she likes. Color is important, and it seems that standard red roses are becoming boring and a sign that you don’t really care. Get yellow. Chicks dig the yellow roses. If your goal is sex, make sure you toss in the little stuffed animal. Chicks don’t seem to care if it is delivered soaking wet, they love them. Pretend you care, and get one next year. If she is over 16, DO NOT GET A BALLOON, unless it is a gag gift. Two women both appeared angry that their Valentines Day give did not convey the seriousness expected from someone who gets their underwear laundered for free.
Candy = Begging. Be a man and get the teddy bear instead. If you want candy, buy your own and hide it in your truck like I do.
Having served in the enabler role for men roped into participating in this holiday, I am more determined to avoid it in the future. The tips were cool, the reaction from children funny, (daddy didn’t buy me anything?) and a few women had their days (and I suspect nights) made better for it. I looked at some of the prices for this stuff and almost gagged, and wondered what self-respecting man spends the equivalent of two GOOD bottles of scotch on something that is going to be tossed out next week?
I will never deliver another flower, balloon, stuffed animal, balloon, plant, balloon in my life.
But, I will accept them, of course. (not the balloon)
Purple?
I gain a friend with every bar tab I pick up.
You are merely your credit rating again?
Oh... you meant the truck.
Nevermind.
Best rant, yet, PD! ROFLMAO!
I KNOW! And it was so much more personal, because he made the bouquet himself! :D Gotta love a man with heart. :)
Assuming you are referring to the X-Boxes, I can only say you have not lived until you have played Call of Duty 2 in bed naked. You gotta have one for the bedroom.
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ROFL, ZGuy!!
Pukin Dog, you're a sweetie for giving the receptionist the orchids. I hope you have a better Valentine's Day next year.
Oh what a horrible experience! I gotta tell you though, you're wrong about teddies. Teddies are for kids! I outgrew my stuffed animals when I was about six. Teddies are LAME!!!!!
Flowers are always good though and I don't think red roses are boring at all. In the language of flowers, red roses mean "I love you". Very appropriate for Valentines day!
I hope yours is much sweeter next year! :)
LOL - how many stuffed animals did you deliver soaking wet?
You're a good writer though. I loved the story.
I think you've won FIRST PRIZE FOR ROMANCE for giving the receptionist the orchid.
I'm swoonin' here.
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