Episode Nine - The Bucket!

Don't forget you can find us wherever you listen to your podcasts... Fareham Florist Pod 

 

Today I share a cringe-worthy tale of a scorching day at the shop when a plastic bucket gave way, sending me sprawling across a plant display and into the laughing gaze of three builders.

Between the laughs and lost dignity I reflect on resilience, retail life, bullying, and the small lessons learned - stay hydrated, don’t sit on buckets, and reach out for support when you need it.

 Below is the script for this episode.

🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻 

Hello everyone and welcome to episode 9, of fareham florist pod where I share with you the trials and tribulations of being a working florist and small business owner of fareham florist, a small family run and independent florist located on the edge of a town on the south coast of the uk, called… yep, you guessed it, fareham. 

Today I’d like to share with you a tale about buckets! 

My absolute least dignified moment… only as a florist, I should clarify. I’ve had far worse in my personal life — but we’ll save those for a different episode and possibly a therapist.

It was a blisteringly hot day. The kind of heat that doesn’t gently warm you — it oppresses you. The kind that makes your clothes cling in places they shouldn’t and turns every minor inconvenience into a personal attack.

And anyone who has ever spoken to me on a hot day will know… I do not thrive in heat. I don’t glow. I don’t radiate summer joy. I wilt. Like an unwatered hydrangea in direct sunlight.

At the time, I wasn’t the boss. I was the underling. The dependable one. The one who got left with the jobs no one else fancied. And on this particular day, my boss had sent the trainees home early.

Which meant one thing.

The trays.

The many, many, many trays of plants we displayed outside the shop.

Every morning they had to be carried out.
 Every evening they had to be carried back in.
 And twice a day — sometimes more in that heat — they had to be watered.

Now, if you’ve never handled retail plant trays before, let me paint the picture. They’re awkward. They’re heavy. They multiply when you’re not looking. And on a hot day, each one feels like it’s filled not with compost… but regret.

So there I was.

Alone.

Sweaty.

Slightly resentful.

Dragging tray after tray into position, hose in hand, already fantasising about ice water and air conditioning.

And that… that is where the story really begins.

Because what happened next was not graceful.
It was not professional.
It was not elegant.

It was, without question…

My least dignified florist moment.

And if you’ve ever thought floristry is all soft music and romantic bouquets, let me lovingly disillusion you.

Stay with me.

I am and always have been of the opinion that no matter high up the ladder you are in a job, you all do your fair share of the lesser popular jobs. Just because you've climbed the chain, doesn't mean you get to lord it over those who are just beginning. I won't lie, i wasn't happy about it. The sun was high in the sky, directly over our little forecourt. I smothered on a couple of layers of suncream and go myself prepared.

 

Not wanting to constantly drag a watering can back-and-forth (it was eighty steps between the forecourt and water butt, steps I'd want to do these days to keep fitter, but which I didn't deem necessary back then) I thought it would be easier to fill a bucket and dunk the plant pots, thereby making sure their roots got what they needed; there's never a real guarantee with a watering can they are getting enough. This also meant I could be even lazier and sit down on the job.

 

I decided I’d grab another bucket to sit on as I worked. Efficient. Sensible. Comfortable.

 

Or so I thought.

 

I dunked, I topped it up when the water got too low for the plant pots, I smoked a couple of cigarettes (not something I do now and definitely not something I would encourage anyone to do) and on the whole it turned out to be a better experience than I believed it would be.  

 

I got all the way to the last tray when, without warning, the bucket gave up on life. It buckled underneath me like it was made of paper.

 

The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, legs in the air, skirt over my head, and my underwear greeting the world like a flag on a windy day.

 

After gathering my dazed and confused self I sat up, embarrassed, hoping I'd not crushed any plants, cut myself, or broken a bone. What is the first thing I see when my eyes focused before me? 

 

A white van; three builders sitting there, staring at me and they are absolutely howling with laughter.

Tears running down their faces. One actually clapped!

 

I could run, moved away as fast as possible, or even cried. Instead I did what most people would expect of my. I took my bow giving a regal wave as I did so! 

 

Hello and welcome to Fareham Florist Pod — the podcast where the flowers are fresh, the stories are occasionally wilted, and the florist has absolutely no dignity left whatsoever.

I’m Sarah — your resident florist, heat-hater, former bucket enthusiast — and today… I am sharing what is, without question, my least dignified moment as a florist.

Now — and let me be very clear — only as a florist.

My personal life? Oh, we’ve had worse.

But this… this was public.
This involved gravity.
And this involved builders.

So settle in. Grab a cuppa. Or something stronger if you’re listening in summer. And let me take you back to the day the bucket betrayed me.

Let me set the scene.

It was one of those blistering, oppressive, why-do-we-live-in-this-country-if-it’s-going-to-be-like-Spain kind of days.

Now, anyone who has ever spoken to me on a hot day knows: I do not thrive in heat.

I do not glow.
I do not shimmer.
I do not radiate.

I melt.
I wilt.
I become verbally aggressive toward the sun.

There is something deeply unfair about being a florist — surrounded by living things that love sunshine — when you yourself would quite happily photosynthesise under a grey cloud forever.

And on this particular day? The sun was positioned directly above our little forecourt like it had a personal vendetta towards me.

Now, my boss — in her infinite wisdom — had sent the trainees home.

Which meant the glamorous job of watering the many, many, many trays of plants we had displayed out front was now… mine.

And let me tell you something about trays of plants outside a florist shop.

They do not politely stay where you put them.

Every morning:
Out they go.

Every evening:
Back they come.

It’s like plant CrossFit.

And I have always believed — and still believe — that no matter how high up the ladder you climb in a job, you still do your fair share of the rubbish jobs.

Just because you’ve been there longer doesn’t mean you get to float around looking important while someone else carries the watering can

That’s not how I operate.

Did I believe in it? Yes.

Was I thrilled about it that day? Absolutely not.

Now, it was eighty steps — yes, I counted — between the forecourt and the water butt.

Eighty steps.

These days I’d probably call that “getting my steps in.”
Back then? It was a personal attack.

So I thought to myself, using my single brain cell in an intelligent way for a change…

Why am I trudging back and forth with a watering can like some Victorian orphan?

Why don’t I fill a bucket… dunk the pots… make sure the roots get a proper drink… and save myself the legwork?

Efficient.
Botanically sound.
Lazy, but in a clever way.

And then — because I am nothing if not committed to comfort — I thought:

I’ll grab another bucket to sit on.

Look at me.
Thinking ahead.
Innovating.florist optimising workflow.

What they would not have seen… is destiny tightening a screw.

So there I am.

Dunking pots.
Topping up the water.
Having a little sit-down.

I even — and I say this with the disclaimer that I do not smoke now and I absolutely do not encourage it — had a couple of cigarettes while I worked.

It almost felt… pleasant.

The sun was still offensive, but I was coping.

I got into a rhythm.

Bucket. Dunk. Swirl. Done.

Bucket. Dunk. Swirl. Done.

I thought:

“Well. That wasn’t so bad. Look at me turning adversity into efficiency.”

And that… that was my mistake.

Because the universe hates it when you get smug.

I reached the last tray.

The very last one.

Victory was within touching distance.

And without warning… the bucket beneath me simply said:

“No.”

It didn’t creak.
It didn’t wobble.
It didn’t give me so much as a courtesy crack.

It buckled.

Instantly.

Like it had been waiting for its moment.

One second I was upright.

The next?

Flat on my back.
Legs in the air.
Skirt over my head.
Underwear flapping in the breeze like a celebratory bunting situation.

Now, time does something very strange in moments like this.

It slows down.

You become acutely aware of everything.

The temperature of the pavement.
The sound of a pot tipping.
The fact that your dignity has left your body.

So I gather myself.

Dazed. Confused. Mildly checking for broken bones.

And I think:

Please.
Please let no one have seen that.

I sit up.

And directly in front of me…

A white van.

Three builders.

Absolutely howling.

Tears streaming down their faces.

One of them clapped.

Clapped.

Now I had options.

I could have scrambled inside.
I could have cried.
I could have pretended I’d meant to do it.

Instead?

I did what most people would expect of me.

I took a bow.

A full, theatrical bow.

And gave them a regal wave.

Because if you’re going down… you go down performing.

There was a solid two seconds — two whole seconds — where I genuinely thought:

“Did I just die?”

Because when you fall backwards unexpectedly, your brain doesn’t go,
“Oh dear.”

It goes,
“This is how it ends. Hot, sweaty, with my undies on show”

And here’s the thing.

In that moment, I had a choice.

Humiliation…
Or humour.

And I’ve learned — especially in retail, especially in floristry — that you cannot control what happens to you.

You can only control how you respond.

And if three grown men are crying laughing because you’ve just flashed half of Fareham from a plant display?

You may as well give them a show.

I stood up, took a bow and headed back inside the shop. 

Tried  to act normal.

Hair slightly feral.
Skirt slightly suspicious.
Ego completely detached from body.

My boss looked at me and said:

“You alright?”

I said — I don’t know why —

“Yes. I just thought i’d test gravity.”

To this day, I cannot see a builder’s van without wondering…

Is it one of them?

Do they tell that story?

“Remember that florist who launched herself backwards like a startled deer?”

Because I remember.

My back remembers.

My pride remembers.

But honestly?

It makes me laugh now.

And I think that’s the beauty of this job.

Amongst the weddings and the funerals and the beautiful bouquets and the chaos and the compost…

You collect these moments.

The undignified ones.
The ridiculous ones.
The ones that make you human.

So if you’re having a day where something goes wrong…

If your metaphorical bucket collapses…

Take a bow.

Wave regally.

And carry on watering the plants

Also: never sit on a bucket.

They are not chairs.

They are lies with,and without handles.

I did actually crush one plant.

A small geranium.

It did not survive.

I apologised to it.

Which, in hindsight, probably made the builders laugh harder.

Imagine watching a woman flash you unintentionally and then cradle a plant whispering,
“I’m so sorry.”

Iconic behaviour, honestly.

The real lesson here?

It wasn’t about buckets.

It wasn’t about heat.

It wasn’t even about dignity.

It was about underwear choice.

Always assume gravity is watching and do as my old nan used to say… make sure you’re underwear is clean and free of holes! 

Thank you for listening to Fareham Florist Pod.

I’ll be back next time with more flowery stories, retail confessions, and possibly slightly more dignity.

no promises though.

Until then — stay hydrated.

And don’t sit on buckets.

 

I'm not sure if you're aware, this podcast in Malarkey, it doesn't come for free. It actually costs real money and a lot more than I ever thought it would do. That's why I'm reaching out to you, dear listener. If you would like to support me along the way, you'd be very, very welcome to buy me a virtual coffee. This can be done by visiting https://buymeacoffee.com/farehamfloristpod  Alternatively you may visit Ko-fi, if prefer their brand of coffee you can visit https://ko-fi.com/farehamfloristpod. Every single penny will help to cover equipment and the hosting costs, which are extortionate. You'd be helping me keep this little dream afloat without actually bankrupting myself. Anyway, enough of all that.

If you have enjoyed this episode and I really hope that you have, please feel free to share, subscribe and leave a review wherever you get your podcast. This can make a really huge difference and helps others to find us. I appreciate all feedback, good and bad, but if leaving negative feedback, please keep it constructive and be kind. I'm a florist after all. 

We live, very sadly, in a world where bullies and trolls can intrude far too easily into our daily lives. What was once confined to the classroom or the workplace can now reach much further, stretching its evil tentacles into our homes and personal spaces through screens and devices. I have personally experienced bullying in one form or another throughout the whole of my life, so I understand how deeply it can affect someone. I also realised that when I decided to create this podcast, I was inevitably opening myself up to the trolls and bullies as well. Thankfully, I am now in a place where their words and actions no longer have any power over me. They roll off like raindrops from a leaf. In many ways, that resilience has been essential, as putting myself out there has brought more than a few people crawling out from the shadows and from under their bridges. Some bullies can appear in our lives disguised as friends. They can strike at any point, affecting children and adults alike. They, the bullies, are weak individuals craving attention. If anything really, we should be pitying them. Imagine how empty their life has got to be for them to get their entertainment by abusing someone. Reaching this point in my life did not happen overnight. It took time, support and a great deal of therapy. Bullying affected my physical health, but my mental health more, in so many ways. It is important I say this to you clearly.

Not all bullying is physical. In fact, most of it is psychological, and the impact can be profound. I have struggled with my mental health because of the bullying I was subjected to. I am incredibly grateful that I reached out for help when I did, because honestly, I don't know if I would even be here right now had I not. Know that you are worthy, that you are important, that you are loved. Anybody who makes you feel as though you are not i a person who does not deserve space or time in your life. If you are struggling, please know that you are not alone. There is support available out there. There are people who will listen without judgement, people who can help you find your way forward. Even on the darkest of days, light can still be found. If you need support, reach out. You can call the Samaritans on 116 123. The call will be free, confidential, and someone is available 24-7. If you don't like to speak, you can text SHOUT. That's S-H-O-U-T. Their number is 85258. Again, the messaging will be free and they have a 24-7 support line. If you are experiencing bullying, there is the National Bullying Helpline. This call again will be free and you can reach them on 0300 323 0169. I know that reaching out can feel hard, terrifying and useless. I get that. I felt that way too. But help really is there and I am proof that it can make the biggest difference. Take care of yourself and stay safe.

You can also find us and share with everyone on the usual social media sites. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Blue Sky and any others which may pop up in between. Just look for Fareham Florist Pod.. Please feel free to contact me with any questions you may have regarding any of the tales and or experiences that I've shared, or to do with just being a general working florist. You can reach me via email. The address is farehamfloristpod@duck.com 

Are you a florist with your own stories, your own experiences that you would like me to share for you? If you are, I would love to hear from you. You can reach me via email. The address is farehamfloristpod@duck.com or drop me a WhatsApp on 073 671 87685. Let me know if you would like me to keep you anonymous. If you would like me to give your business a mention, whether you run a florist, butcher, baker, or even a candlestick maker, I'm more than happy to do so, providing your business is registered and trading legally. As a thank you for putting your details out there and hopefully generating some new business for you, it would be appreciated if you would be kind enough to make a donation to one of our nominated charities. These can be found on the webpage www.Fareham Florist Pod.co.uk.