She’s Not Berry Nice

I work at a botanical center. It’s beautiful and any food grown there is donated to food banks and people in need. It’s also a tasting garden where you can learn what you like and how to grow it. We encourage people to walk through the gardens whenever as long as they’re respectful.

We have a lot of raspberry and blueberry cultivars that we like to show off. The patch needs some weeding, so I am in the thickets and thorns with my gloves, a giant bucket, pruners, a hat, earbuds, the works. I’m sticking halfway out of the bushes when I get a tap on my foot; there’s a lady in the garden. I’ll happily answer questions about the gardens, but her mouth is already moving and she looks very angry. 

Me: “I’m sorry. Excuse me one second while I turn off my music.”

Lady: “I SAID, DO YOU WORK HERE?!”

Keep in mind I’m pulling weeds, dripping sweat in the heat, AND I’m wearing clothes with the garden’s logo and name.

Me: “Yes, I do, I’m the intern. What can I help you with?”

Lady: “If you’re only the intern, then never mind. You can’t help me at all. You probably don’t know anything about these raspberries.”

Me: “Actually, I know a lot about the gardens, and I’m going to college just for stuff like this. I can try to answer any questions.”

Lady: “Well, all right. Fine. Why don’t you harvest the raspberries?”

Me: “They get harvested once or twice a week as much as we can; we don’t have a lot of staff to handle a full harvest.”

Lady: “They’re supposed to be harvested every days. You aren’t doing it right and it’s not healthy.”

Both of her statements are wrong, and the raspberries are very healthy.

Me: “I wish we could do that, but we just don’t have the manpower, and the food banks only take our produce once a week, so it doesn’t go bad.”

Lady: “Food banks? That’s just a waste, and it’s so bad for the plants. Maybe I’ll just come by with my truck and buckets and harvest them all for myself.”

Me: “Ma’am, that’s very disrespectful. You’re welcome to try some of the berries, but please don’t harvest them when others need them.”

Lady: “Well, who’s gonna stop me, huh?”

My boss has come out to check on me and make sure I am doing okay and not passed out in the berries from the heat, and she has overheard the last of the conversation. She’s already had problems with people harvesting food and looks furious. I wave and smile at her and start putting my earbuds back in.

Me: “Ma’am, you’re right. I can’t stop you. After all, I am just the intern.”

The last thing I heard before starting my music was my boss starting to give this lady an earful about a treeful of peaches that had gone missing right before we were going to harvest them.