The Life Of An Ex-Flower Employee

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, I used to work with flowers.

I worked in a warehouse as a flower distributor. I was in charge over quality control of my designated flowers, and I was in charge of accurately distributing flowers to the correct customer carts.

It was idyllic. It was magical. It was bliss.

Apart from the sexism, aggression and disregard for safety.

Apart from all the bad, it was only good.

If you ignore being hit on by every man, young and old.

If you ignore the constant meetings, productivity meetings, and impossible standards.

If you ignore the 20-minute breaks in a five-hour shift.

If you ignore the time they offered paracetamol instead of letting me go home.

If you ignore the man who would yell and cause a fuss for seemingly no reason.

Just thinking about the friends you had, who you laughed with in your short breaks. The friends you ate with after work and scoffed the food like a Golden Labrador.

Just thinking about the pretty bouquets and beautiful flowers.

Remembering the smell that sent all your troubles floating away.

That smell was my happy place. The smell of a million flowers all gathering in one place.

The hugs you received from friends in the morning help you get through the day.

The laughter as you gathered to get a run down of how many flowers you had to distribute and how long it would be expected to take.

I no longer work with flowers. There are no jobs like that anymore.

It’s hard to motivate yourself when all you are going to is a healthy work environment that smells like a chemical cleaner.

Sometimes, all you want is to run away and smell the flowers.

Only the good and minus the bad.

How wonderful life is when it lives in your memory.