niggles

The atmosphere at work was slightly scratchy, despite the fact that it was a nice day.  The manager was relieved that the boss was pleased with the quality of the shrubs that arrived last week from a new supplier we hadn't used before.  However, he was not happy that one of my co-workers had spent a lot of time rearranging the shop last week when the manager was on holiday for half term, while leaving a garbled note about how there hadn't been time to put a delivery of roses out on display in order.  Or that the Heuchera had been moved back out into the rain to make room for a delivery of Daphne, which had been put out for sale without disclaimer labels warning that since they were notoriously difficult to establish in the garden, then provided they were healthy and correctly named when we sold them, we wouldn't replace them if they failed.  My young colleague was not happy because her car had suddenly and mysteriously died, not long after being serviced.  The owner was not happy about the cafe, though not nearly as hopping mad as I thought she might be, and the boss was not happy because we'd gone home last night without setting the alarm on the house.  I was not happy to have to take the blame for this, since nobody had told me that the boss was out.  I'll just set it next time regardless, and if he's at home or the dogs trigger it then that's too bad.

I stole the idea for the disclaimers from another plant retailer over at Saffron Walden.  It took about two years to persuade the owners that it was a good idea.  First of all they said it would put people off buying daphnes, but anyone deterred by the label shouldn't be buying a daphne in the first place.  Then the boss said that we ought to tell customers at the till.  That doesn't work in practice because staff forget, or because when there's a queue you just focus on getting the right amount of money put through the correct till category.  There isn't time to stop for a chat about individual plants.  You don't expect the checkout at Tesco to grind to a halt because the operator and the customer ahead of you are having a long conversation about food allergies, or how to cook shin of beef.  Eventually, worn down by the number of customers bringing back dead daphnes and indignant that they had not been told that the plants weren't guaranteed, the owner who is in charge of the finances agreed that we could have Specialist Plant labels.  Based on careful reading of one newspaper article about the Sale of Goods Act I am confident that we are within our rights to refuse to replace failed daphnes.  As long as the plant was healthy when it left our premises, and correctly described, we have sold goods of merchantable quality.  After that the onus is on the customer to get it right.

Other plants which will die as soon as look at you, once planted, include Edgeworthia chrysantha, the Chilean fire tree Embothrium, and Franklinia alatamaha.  Although I have planted Edgeworthia twice at home, and it has established fine both times.  I lost the first plant because the water table rose under it during a wet spell and drowned it.  Customers can have very weird ideas about when we should replace plants for them, free and gratis.  Plants that are patently unsuitable for the site chosen for them (unless we erroneously advised that they'd be suitable), plants attacked by aphids months after we sold them, trees whose bark has been strimmed through by the customer's own gardener.  If you buy a piece of beef and turn it into an inedible leathery lump by cooking it for too long in too hot an oven, you don't expect your butcher to give you another joint, even if he is a lovely artisan one selling rare breeds and championship sausages, and not just heartless Mr Tesco.

A sweet old lady rang up asking about lavenders.  I surmise that she was old, from her voice, and the fact that she lived in a bungalow.  She wanted advice on dwarf lavenders to plant in a narrow bed along the front of the property.  I explained that really and truly November was not the best time to be doing this job, since lavender liked good drainage and warmth, and young plants might sit too wet and rot over the winter.  And we scarcely had any left.  If she were to plant her hedge in the spring, we would have a much better choice and could order in the right number of plants for her if we didn't have enough in stock.  She agreed that sounded sensible, and that she would leave it until spring.  Then she told me how much she liked the plant centre, and how well everything she'd bought from us had done, and how she'd seen the boss on the telly.  I'm pleased her plants did well, which is partly a credit to her, partly that we do stock good plants, and partly that we try to dissuade customers from planting things at difficult times of the year.

Another customer was torn by her desire to buy a particularly tender form of Teucrium, and the description on the label, backed up by my warning that it was not the hardiest of plants.  Teucrium fruticans is a lovely, grey leafed sun lover with lipped flowers in a soft powder blue.  It comes from southern Europe and north Africa, and has been grown in UK gardens since the early eighteenth century.  The variety 'Azureum' has flowers in a deeper shade of blue, but is even more tender than the ordinary sort.  I gave her my honest opinion, which was that in a harsh winter or given less than ideal growing conditions, she might lose it, but could see that she wanted it.  It cost £9.75, so I gave her the counter argument as well, which was that we asked an awful lot of our garden plants in terms of guaranteed reliability, since we would spend ten pounds on a bunch of cut flowers and take it for granted that they'd be over in a week.  She agreed that she'd just spent forty pounds on fireworks, which had been over in ten minutes, and decided to risk it with the Teucrium.  It is a black art, to be able to spell out the drawbacks of something while selling it anyway.

Addendum  I almost forgot, there was one piece of romantic news.  The boss's mother's gardener builds the bonfire for the local Guy Fawkes celebrations, and this year just as the heap was about to be lit he grabbed the microphone of the tannoy system and proposed publicly to his partner.  She accepted.