Worst. Day. Yet.

Well, it's been four months at the flower shop and typically progress goes in the way of an incline.

But not for me!

Yesterday began a 6-day stint, all employees on, to cover Valentine's Day, the shop's biggest sales day of the year (second place goes to Mother's Day with Christmas a distant, distant third). With Valentine's falling on a Sunday this year, sales have spread out across the work week and will go into the weekend, creating a steady, busy stream (and luckily not a one-day slam).

The work day revolved around packaging 10,000 orders of long-stemmed red roses (boys, a little originality?) until the owner reminded us we needed to make bouquets for Friday. These won't be going on the 50% off rack - that deal excludes holiday weekends - but are there for customers who want to pick something quick up and go. Since reducing my schedule to Mondays and Tuesdays in the slow season, I haven't had the opportunity to make them. I was excited and nervous to see how my old bouquet-making skills played out, sure they'd be rusty, but hoping I'd surprise myself. 

If that had been a gamble, I would have just lost the house.

I start assembling the collar of greens in my hand, and begin placing the flowers. It's a little wobbly, and I tighten my grip. I stare at the assembled bouquet and nope - it's not right. I walk over to my boss and show her - "looks like it's too tight," she says. I have to loosen my grip for a fuller bouquet. I go back and begin again. Meanwhile, "Superior," my fellow 23-year old colleague who surpasses me in everything but bucket cleaning at this point, is on her second bouquet, which she's made with a hand tied behind her back and one eye closed (okay not really, but still). I build the collar, place the flowers, careful to loosen my grip, and bring round two back to my boss. "This one's falling apart," she says. I look at her, frustrated. "You haven't done these in a while,"  she offers kindly.

"Nope, not since before Christmas."

AND THEN.

"Why don't you let "Superior" do them? All the buckets need signs anyway, and the Burton & Burton package needs to be priced and stocked in the store."

That's right. I was asked NOT to do the bouquets and put on stock duty. At the ripe old age of 29.  

Mor-tif-i-ca-tion.

And then the entire shop went silent, having heard our embarrassing exchange, with me feeling like I was just sent back to pass kindergarten again, a la Billy Madison styles.

And then again. 

Completing an in-store sale with a customer, I proceed to hand him fifty extra dollars out of the drawer. [I thought he had given me a one-hundred dollar bill, which I had typed into our system and therefor followed its - incorrect - change tally.] He very kindly handed it back (I love you, Milwaukee!), but only after several confused exchanges between us where I finally realized I had typed the wrong amount of money tendered into the system. Which everyone in the shop also heard. I look over at my boss, who is presumably thinking, hmmm, why did I hire you?

So, THE CLAW IS BACK. And I might be fired. There must be a lesson in here.