Two Roses and One Very Awkward Inauguration
It was a six-hour night drive — our second escape since the long COVID curfew. With restrictions partially lifted, we were off to inaugurate a rural social healthcare program. Shops were scarce, so we crammed every necessity into the trunk, including a flower bouquet for the chief guest — a renowned doctor praised for her COVID-era work.
She arrived at 10 a.m. for the 11 a.m. inauguration. I stood, ready to welcome her, when my colleague rushed to me, pale and empty-handed.
“Most of the flowers are dead… dry… unusable,” he whispered, panicked.
My heart dropped. We had two minutes.
“Just gather whatever survived,” I begged, “wrap it in paper, something, and run!”
I turned just in time for my colleague to slam a paper cone of flowers into my hand.
I glanced down.
Red roses!!
Just… a couple of freshly awkward, romantic red roses.
My soul left my body.
What would it look like? A young male coordinator handing a young female guest a pair of red roses — in front of a crowd — at an inauguration?
Not a great moment to start a rom-com.
Still, I had no time to explain or recover. So I put on the most neutral poker face I could manage with a face that had just seen its career flash before its eyes, and offered the roses with the enthusiasm of someone handing in a resignation.
She took them, raised an amused eyebrow like “Seriously?” She held on to them and walked right up to the dais… still holding the roses.
Later, I found my moment. I approached her sheepishly during the break and whispered:
“I’m very sorry, ma’am… most of the flowers were ruined by the heat, so we had to improvise. That’s all we could salvage.”
She looked at me, grinned wide, took a little sniff of the roses and said:
“But these are beautiful. Thank you.”
Boy, I nearly fainted from relief.
…
….
And yes, I may or may not have strangled my colleague.
His survival status?…….Classified.
She arrived at 10 a.m. for the 11 a.m. inauguration. I stood, ready to welcome her, when my colleague rushed to me, pale and empty-handed.
“Most of the flowers are dead… dry… unusable,” he whispered, panicked.
My heart dropped. We had two minutes.
“Just gather whatever survived,” I begged, “wrap it in paper, something, and run!”
I turned just in time for my colleague to slam a paper cone of flowers into my hand.
I glanced down.
Red roses!!
Just… a couple of freshly awkward, romantic red roses.
My soul left my body.
What would it look like? A young male coordinator handing a young female guest a pair of red roses — in front of a crowd — at an inauguration?
Not a great moment to start a rom-com.
Still, I had no time to explain or recover. So I put on the most neutral poker face I could manage with a face that had just seen its career flash before its eyes, and offered the roses with the enthusiasm of someone handing in a resignation.
She took them, raised an amused eyebrow like “Seriously?” She held on to them and walked right up to the dais… still holding the roses.
Later, I found my moment. I approached her sheepishly during the break and whispered:
“I’m very sorry, ma’am… most of the flowers were ruined by the heat, so we had to improvise. That’s all we could salvage.”
She looked at me, grinned wide, took a little sniff of the roses and said:
“But these are beautiful. Thank you.”
Boy, I nearly fainted from relief.
…
….
And yes, I may or may not have strangled my colleague.
His survival status?…….Classified.
