I love plants and enjoy gardening. Therefore, working in a garden center is my dream job most of the year. The Spring months do make me question my life choices some days, though. Mostly, our customers feel the joy of being surrounded by plants and are optimistic about recreating some of that beauty in their own yards. People of all ages wander about our greenhouse and their experiences run the spectrum from novice to Master Gardener. Young adults that are moving into their first home are eager to make the place their own by creating some curb appeal. Families want to provide a learning experience for their children by planting a vegetable garden. Newly empty nesters are finding time to invest in a hobby and are looking to add to their plant collection. Senior citizens that helped THEIR grandmothers can green beans and tomatoes arrive early in the Spring to find the Bradley tomatoes they’ve been planting for 40 years. Children are in awe, and seasoned gardeners are giddy. Most days, it is fun and gratifying to help customers decide on vegetables they want to try or design flower beds for the front yard. Most people are open to suggestions and excited about the possibilities. Some customers are happy to have fellow plant-lovers that they can “talk shop” with and share the gardening hacks that they’ve discovered along the way. About 99% of our customers arrive happy, and leave just as, if not more so, happy. They are polite and gracious. That other 1%…
Working in retail gives me endless opportunities to practice patience and grace. Occasionally, there are interactions that make me doubt my faith in humanity. These customers walk around with a scowl on their face. They ooze entitlement, and my sole purpose is to serve them. Instead of greeting me, they stand at the entrance of the greenhouse and utter a single word, like “zinnias”. When it’s been one of those days and I’m feeling feisty, I’ll say, “Are you asking me where the zinnias are located? Are you trying to tell me about zinnias? Do you have questions about zinnias?”. I feel like the parent of a 3-year-old. USE YOUR WORDS. These customers will be the first to inform me which plants need to be watered and let me know when a plant’s appearance is sub par. They balk at our prices saying, “I can get those much cheaper at Wal-Mart”. They will walk up to me and say, “Give me two trays of those begonias” without a please or thank you. If I don’t have the answer to their question fast enough, they roll their eyes and give an exasperated sigh; sometimes, I’ve barely gotten a chance to respond before they storm off saying, “NEVER MIND! I’ll find someone who knows!” And heaven help me if we are out of the very plant they drove “all the way out here” for. I’m held personally responsible, because I should’ve anticipated the demand.
I’m about to state an opinion that is extremely unpopular. Just hear me out before you massacre me. When we have difficult customers, 8 times out of 10, they are NOT our younger shoppers. They are the generation of people frequently ranting about how America is doomed because of those damn millennials. The people that yearn for “the good old days” when young people “had manners and showed some respect”. I am NOT saying that this behavior is typical of ALL customers older than me; quite the contrary. The vast majority of my elders are a total delight to interact with. I say all of that to say this: Don’t count the youngsters out. I’m tired of all the criticism the Gen Y-ers and Gen Z-ers are getting. It’s old and it is clichéd. Sure, you have studies and articles supporting your theory that millennials are THE WORST. I’m telling you that MY experience in retail has been that most millennials are friendly, well-mannered, excellent human beings. They want to learn, and they are thankful to us “seasoned” employees that are willing to share their wisdom. I’d like to tell you about some customers I observed recently.
A couple of weekends ago, we had a young family come into the greenhouse. Usually, we hear children coming before we see them. They’re chasing each other through the pottery and plant displays while their parents are focused on their landscape plans. This young couple had two little girls in tow; they looked to be about 4 years old and 2 years old. They rode on the cart, but once the cart became stationary, they got out to wander around. When one strayed a little too far from the parents, the kid was called back. When the kid didn’t respond, dad said, “I’m counting to 3”. He barely made it to 2 before the child ran back to him. The girls were getting a little whiny. I couldn’t blame them. The greenhouse is hot, and plant shopping as a kid is B O R I N G. Mom acknowledged that the girls were tired, so they should probably get going. They stopped to look at one more thing, and the youngest kid encroached on that invisible personal space line her older sister had established. The 4-year-old LOST. IT. Mom and dad exchanged the tired look that silently communicates, “I can’t believe our kids are causing a scene. Everyone in here must hate us right now.” They turned back to the kids cool, calm, and in control. Mom crouched down and quietly said, “We are not going to do this.” The blood-curdling screams died down, and mom said, “There is no reason to be screaming like this. You’re screaming like someone ripped your arm off. Did someone rip your arm off?” The kid whimpered, “No”. Mom said, “Ok. We are going to walk to the register to pay for our stuff and then we’ll go home. Do you think you can hold it together long enough for us to do that?” The kid answered, “Yes.” Mom and dad walked out of the greenhouse. They stopped in perennials to look at one more plant, and I made my way over to them. I said to the dad, “Since I don’t think parents hear this often enough, I just wanted you to know that I think you are doing an awesome job.” He was kind of sheepish as he replied, “Thank you. Some days it sure doesn’t feel that way.” I said, “Oh I bet. But I think you’ve got this.” He said thank you again, and we went about our day.
Maybe the future isn’t as bleak as it seems. Maybe I just try too hard to put a positive spin on things. Maybe, as a parent, I’m hoping that I’ve raised an adult that’s equipped to face this big bad world while being a beacon of light to everyone she encounters. I refuse to accept that our youngsters are going to be this country’s undoing. I choose to give them the benefit of the doubt. I choose to be hopeful about the future.
