A pleasant voice spoke when I answered the phone. 

A man had rung to place an order. It was a generous amount for a colleague who had recently left their shared place of employment, and was in acknowledgement of her valued work. I was excited to create the gift ordered, as I always am. I could tell that it was for a special someone who he had worked alongside, but also on behalf of the whole staff. The gift reflected that. The special message to be sent with this order was lovely, it could have been read generally, or perhaps with a more intimate slant, I wasn’t sure. But I was sure, she would love it. It just so happened I was going that way, which was an off my usual route of courier delivery, and so I said I was more than happy to make the delivery myself. And so I did. I created the gift, fulfilled the order and delivered it. No one answered the door. Not unusual, I quite often have to leave a bunch of flowers or a gift at the door and send the appropriate delivery note. 

A guarded voice spoke when I answered the phone the next day. 

A woman had rung to say that she had received an order from a colleague with whom she had recently left their shared place of employment. “It is an unwanted gift”, were her words. She sounded defensive and perhaps a little wary. She apologized to say that she was ringing to see how much the gift had cost so that she could on-sell it, after asking me first if it could be returned. It had been a custom-made gift which I was unable to refund or receive back. 

Nonverbal clues had told me that the person I’d spoken to, the one who had made the order, was fond of (perhaps a little too much?) the one the order was for. The verbal and nonverbal clues and tone of voice that the recipient gave, told me she did not want to have anything to do with the gift, the giver, or perhaps now the previous place of employment.

What had transpired?

Curiously, my mind sought to find the reason. I never asked her. It was not my place. On the other end of the phone I could tell she was already in too much pain, perhaps trauma, in receiving the gift. She could not have this custom-designed gift sitting in her home as a reminder of … him, or them. 

Was it unwanted attention he had given her? Workplace abuse? An affair gone wrong? A colleague who crossed the line? A place of employment that was difficult? An apology gift? It seemed to carry more than a message of farewell and appreciation. She was genuinely honoured for her role there, according to the words I had handwritten on the card on behalf. Whatever it was, the gift could not be accepted.

I am a middle-person, a service provider. My occupation and the skills I bring act as a mediator between 2 people, or 2 parties. Flowers speak. Gifts speak. And the role of my profession is to take what one person wants to say, and to interpret that into a physical form. Mostly, it is a joyful job. I congratulate, I express love or sympathy, I brighten someone’s day, I appreciate, I award, I welcome, I farewell, I make a space or an occasion beautiful, I say thank you.

It's an odd feeling to have had a mediation go awry. What was intended by one, was received in a completely different manner by the other. this difficult situation could have gone without any knowledge of it on my part if she had never spoken out. Had she never phoned me, I would not have known. But here she was on the other end of the phone. How would I answer? How should I come across?

“Ah well, it’s not my problem” may be the acceptable response of many, I suppose.

Instead, I felt curiosity, I could feel his desire to be received well, I could feel her pain, but my only real and appropriate response, was to be kind on the other end of the line, and let it be. 

I confess, this florist may have just been in the middle of something slightly scandalous or improper.