January 1988
I’d just received word doctors would be ready to discharge Diana and Hannah later that afternoon. The birth of my first daughter, two days prior, was certainly something to celebrate! I put on a coat and tie and I went down to the local florist before going to the hospital.
“I’d like two bouquets of a dozen long-stem red roses,” I asked the florist. (A dozen for Diana and a dozen for Hannah).
“OK, that will be $63.58, with tax,” replied the florist.
Taking a mental note of my bank account, I quickly reversed myself.
“Oh, never mind.” Sixty-four dollars might as well have been a thousand back then. Too expensive and we had rent and utilities to pay in just a week. So I considered other options.
Thumbing through the phone book at the florist shop, I saw a promising entry–a floral wholesaler in downtown Norfolk. And it wasn’t too far out of my way to Norfolk Sentara Hospital where Diana and Hannah were hospitalized. These were the folks who supplied the retail florists. So, with just a few hours before I was supposed to pick up Diana and Hannah, I headed downtown en route to the hospital.
I pulled up to the warehouse in a sketchy part of downtown Norfolk. I wandered in, coat, tie, and all. There was no retail presence at all in the warehouse. Just crates of flowers and a few forklifts.
“Ah, excuse me sir. May I help you?” inquired the guy in coveralls.
Getting right to the point, “Yes! I’d like to buy two dozen red roses.”
The guy seemed perplexed. “We don’t sell roses like that. Are you a florist?”
“No sir, I just want to buy some flowers,” I implored.
“So, you’re not a florist and you don’t have a business account with us?”
“No sir,” I replied. “Just here for two dozen roses.”
“Let me see what I can do.” The guy seemed amenable to helping me.
A few minutes later he comes out with an armload of red roses.
“Sir, we sell roses in bundles of 25. $15 per bundle.”
“Perfect!” That was right in my price range. I handed him the cash, I had my roses, and the man in coveralls turned to leave.
“Um, excuse me sir. Do you have any Baby’s Breath and fern greenery?” I asked hopefully.
The man in coveralls quickly spun around. “What?”
“Yes, I’d like arrange these flowers, sir. And do you have any green paper?”
“You’re kidding, aren’t you?” inquired the man in coveralls incredulously.
“No sir. I’ll gladly pay for the paper, Baby’s Breath, and ferns. I just want these flowers to look their very best for my wife and newborn daughter.”
His countenance softened a bit but he still seemed a bit annoyed. The man in coveralls relented with a deep sigh. “Give me a minute.” A few minutes later he returned with two sheets of green paper, two bunches of Baby’s Breath and four springs of fern. “Here you go, buddy. No charge.”
“Thank you so much!” I shook his hand. “Oh, one more thing,” I said sheepishly.
“Yes?” The man’s exasperation grew.
“Do you have anywhere I can spread out a bit to arrange these flowers?”
Sighing again . . . “Over there. On top of that crate.”
And so I arranged two bouquets of a dozen roses on top of a grimy warehouse crate. I had a single leftover rose.
I picked up Diana and Hannah shortly afterwards, presenting them each a dozen red, long-stem roses. The single leftover rose went to the nurse who wheeled Diana and Hannah out to the car.
25 red roses, Baby’s Breath, ferns, and green paper. And all it cost me was $15 . . . and a tiny bit of my ego.
Happy 30th birthday, Hannah!!
Dash Stories 