Sharon and I went to Sam’s Club yesterday. On the way into the store we stopped to look at their parking lot-based plant display. Sharon squeaked out a long and feeble “hheeellllpp, waaaatteerrr” as we approached the area. Several of the larger plants had blown over and all of them were dry as bones. Leaves were shriveling and the potting soil had shrunk away from the pot walls.
As we entered the store, I told the greeter of the situation outside. He said he would tell the manager. As we walked on by, I noted that the greeter was more interested in staring into space than in the crumbling plant inventory, so I walked over to the service desk to speak to a young lady who was engaged in some vitally important texting exchange on a smartphone (or store device?). She never looked up at me. After a minute or two, I gave up there and we went on to get our items, checked out, and went to the exit door to have out receipt highlighted by the receipt highlighter person. There, I tried once more. He said, “I know . . . mumble mumble . . . but that’s above my pay grade.” Seriously. Wow.
I went by Sam’s this morning on another errand to see if the manager had gotten the word and done his/her job. The prone trees had been put back on their feet, but sadly, no water had been spared. Someone was there unwrapping new hostas (sorry hostas). I took a picture, the one above, and went about my business thinking that one way to assure that one does not push that pay grade up too far is to exhibit the level of concern we saw yesterday.
Anyway, it’s supposed to rain day after tomorrow. Maybe that will help the plants that do not spontaneously combust before then.