Petty Plantmen
Saturday, July 7, 2007 at 5:11PM 
Every girl of sophistication has a potted palm...About a month ago I purchased a plant - a lovely, lush palm plant that I knew, along with my new white sheets, would turn my bedroom into an oasis of calm. I had visions of a bungalow on St. Bart's, or perhaps the exotic romance of Sarah Bernhardt's Belle Epoque-era townhome. I think nothing completes a room better than a distinctive plant. They're alive, green, and vibrant. I hadn't had a big plant in my room for a little while, so I went to The Plant Warehouse and splurged.
It wasn't an outrageous amount of money, after all, what is $69 dollars when something's going to provide you with months if not years of enjoyment? Well, that was the thought anyway.
About ten days ago, my lovely palm started looking a little piqued. Brown, rather, and I didn't know why. I hadn't overwatered it, I had actually under-watered it. Hmmm - maybe I need to water it? So I watered it, and gave it a little fertilizer. This seemed to perk things up. Fronds stood straight and tall, but they were still brown, and getting browner by the minute.
Fair-dealing consumerism in mind, I brought said palm back to The Plant Warehouse today. I figured: I've always been a good customer, this is the only problem I've ever had with any of my purchases - of course they'll let me exchange it. After all, it's clearly an unhealthy plant - AND I have the receipt!
The Plant Warehouse has always been the place to go for house plants in San Francisco. Barring the colorful characters who run the place, they have good plants and great prices. I purchased Frank the fiddle-leaf fig there over a year ago, and barring a few early misunderstandings Frank is easily one of my longest, most successful relationships. I work hard to keep up my plant life, and while I may not have the greenest of thumbs, I know how to keep things alive.
And so, I brought in the palm...
Now I've said the characters at The Plant Warehouse are colorful, and they are - they're a cross between washed-up has-beens and ex-junkies fresh out of Delancey Street. They have bad teeth, weird clothes, smoke cigarettes on the job, and look grey all over. But, they do know their plants. When I entered the store, one said character came to the counter...
Guy: "What's going on with your palm?"
Me: "I don't know - I think it's dying!" He sticks a tobacco-stained finger into the soil and assesses that the soil isn't dry.
Guy: "Well, it's still wet - when did you water it last?"
Me: "About ten days ago. But it was turning brown, and now that I've watered it, it's getting even browner. I bought it on June 10th - here's the receipt." He doesn't even look twice, just shrugs and reaches for his clippers.
Guy: "What we can do (snip) is take away some of these dead parts (snip, snip) and then you can start to re-grow it (snip)."
Me: "Well, can't I have another one? I mean I did try to take care of it as I knew how and it turned brown."
Guy: "Well, it looks stressed - how long after you bought it did you water it? (snip, snip, snip)
Me: "Um...three weeks? I didn't want to over-water it."
Guy: "Well, that was the problem - you probably waited too long. It's stressed. You know, these plants cost a lot of money."
Me: "I know! It cost me a lot of money - it's not like I tried to stress the plant, look at it now - there's nothing left of it! I paid seventy dollars for this plant and now you've cut it in half! If you won't replace it, can you give me a refund on the difference? After all, I only have half a plant now..."
Guy: "It's not my fault that you didn't take care of the plant." He says this as he nonchalantly gathers up my brownish-black palm fronds into a bunch - it's a rather large bouquet of dying leaves. Meanwhile, I'm wondering when this customer service interaction turned into a critique of my plant-parenting skills.
Me: "What? I did take care of it. You weren't even there, I don't know how you can say that. I've had a plant like this before, so I was taking care of it the way I knew how. I didn't expect it to turn brown!" At this point, another one of the characters who's been out front smoking comes up. He's short, fat, and has a growth on his left eyelid that's particularly gross. In front of all of the other customers he decides to chime in:
Guy 2: "Three weeks is too long to wait to water that plant. You stressed it." I love it when disgusting men whose knuckles typically drag on the floor decide to try and speak only to pick on someone: me.
Me: "So, you won't replace the plant that I spent seventy dollars on, and now you've hacked it to bits. I don't want it any more!"
Guy: "That's fine, but I mean, look at mine over there - it's not dying. I don't know what you did to it, but it's stressed. It's going to turn brown after it's been stressed. It's still strong though - it's got good growth."
Me: "So if I took it home it'll grow again?"
Guy: "I dunno - I would take better care of it though."
Before hearing another word, I look my plant that used to be so lush and lovely, but now looks like Charlie Brown's Christmas tree, and headed out to the street.
Feeling like "the idiot girl who can't water a plant" I got back to my car and promptly burst into tears. Why? I'm not sure. Why I should care that a man who can barely string a sentence together makes fun of me and my housekeeping abilities is beyond me. It's not like he's worth it. It's not like I care about reprobate plant-men and what they think of me. I suppose it always stings when not-so-intelligent people take advantage of another's disadvantage and make them feel just as unintelligent and unimportant as they are.
No one likes to be picked-on; I'm not sure if this is an example of meanness, or bad service, or unconcerned business practice, but I do know it will be a long time before I go to buy a new plant.
Image from Getty Images
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