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That
summer I had booked far too many weddings. I
had been doing weddings for a few years, my
work was popular and brides were seeking me out. In
an attempt to get ahead financially I agreed to design the wedding flowers for nearly
every bride that phoned me. An
“easy” weekend that summer was a weekend with only two weddings. I was working about 90 hours a week, often in all night marathon design sessions. My hands were callused, permanently stained green
and I was losing weight. I never had time for myself.
I kept putting off friends when they called and they finally stopped calling. By late August I was totally exhausted both
physically and mentally. I could barely
function, but I still had a few weddings to complete.
I
should have never agreed to do the wedding where I met the “Flower Girl”. Both the bride and her mother were horrible. Planning the wedding with them was a terrible
experience. They were arrogant, demanding and rude. But,
this was the largest wedding that I had ever designed to this point in my career and I
really needed the money. I smiled and agreed
every time the bride frequently changed her mind on the reception flowers or added just
one more “little thing”. I bit my
tongue every time the bride’s mother berated me for presenting an adjusted price
based on the bride’s changes and additions. I
hoped against odds that the wedding day would go smoothly.
I hired four freelance designers to assist me.
Most of my weddings that summer were a solo effort. It felt good to work as a team with designers who
were not only highly talented and professional, but good friends as well. The work in the design room was finished. Despite all of the changes and additions the final
designs were outstanding. The flowers were
beautiful. It was time for delivery and
instillation. I went to the church with two
designers and the other two designers went to the hotel where the reception was to be
held. We had just finished decorating the
church and were admiring our work when the mother of the bride stormed in. “What the Hell is this” she screamed,
“these flowers are not what I ordered!” I
pulled out my project workbook and patiently explained the final changes in the church
flowers requested and signed for by the bride. “I
don’t care about that” she stormed, “I want these designs changed”. I was stunned, but for the first time in dealing
with her I said NO. “I’m sorry these
are the flowers that you ordered and it’s to late to make changes now”. The mother of the bride stared daggers at me. She turned bright red and was revving up to
verbally assault me when I was saved by the father of the bride who came into the church
yelling that two wedding cakes from two different bakeries had just been delivered at the
hotel and that he “wasn’t going to pay for two damn cakes”. |
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