Every year my Valentine’s Day plan is simple—give small tokens to my friends, become my parent’s third wheel date, then curl into a blanket burrito as I binge-watch my favorite chick flicks until the day finally ends.

 

Eventually, I knew I had to break this annual routine. So this year, I decided to spend Valentine’s selling roses.

 

My Lola Estrella owns a flower shop called Pacific Blooms, and they had a booth set up in the Power Plant Mall’s Flower Fair last week. I joined their Rockwell sales team.

 

Pacific Blooms only carries one kind of flower for Valentine’s—Ecuadorian roses. Compared to local flowers, these have bigger blooms, with vibrant and unique color. It also grows at least two feet long and can last up to two weeks after purchase.

 

Although there are Ecuadorian rose varieties that grow locally, farms are unable to retain the bud’s average 70 petal count and long, thick stems. These are what Ecuadorian roses are known for, and these can be credited to the highland, volcanic soil on which they naturally grow.

 

The first rule in sales is to know your products. Don’t you just get turned off when you inquire, and sellers answered with uncertainty? I didn’t want to sound mediocre, and I told myself I had to be the best “flower girl” there was.

 

So, as early as the first week of February, I spent afternoons inside the shop’s walk-in chiller to familiarize myself with the different varieties of roses. I memorized the names and meaning of the colors, to the point that I used flash photo cards and a color wheel to help me describe what I saw.

 

Lola Ganda

 

Some days I would just walk up to my grandmother (whom I call Lola Ganda for her love for all things beautiful) when she was fiddling with a random rose, and would ask what it symbolized.

 

She talked passionately about roses, as she has been a florist for 25 years. She opened a flower shop so she could always give her mother a bouquet, and because ironically, her husband didn’t express his love through roses.

 

“The purple varieties are for shy and private persons, but it also means that the person giving it respects and appreciates the openness they share,” she said.

 

“The tangerine rose Cayenne is for mothers; it is a color that is passionate, driven and empowering,” she continued.

 

I was certain I wanted to share similar information with our customers to make them appreciate roses for more than their appearance.

 

Our space in Power Plant welcomed people to the Flower Fair. The booth’s design was intended to make you feel like you were entering a secret garden.

 

Fourteen different varieties were on display every day, and the fist-size blooms lured people in like bees. Most women were captivated by the solid and saturated colors of a hot-pink variety called Pink Floyd as well as Cayenne.

 

Men were fascinated by the varieties called Fiesta and Esperance, which they described as “unusual” and “fresh-looking.” Both tri-tone varieties with dominant cream petals, Fiesta has brush-like strokes of blush and magenta, while Esperance has light tinges of pink and green on its jagged petals.

 

I had enough notes to answer basic questions like, “Where are these roses from?”, “Why are they so big?”, and “Are these natural colors?”

 

While others thought red roses traditional, some were delighted by the sight of green, peach, pink, yellow and blue blossoms, which made decisions more difficult.

 

Most from the older generation or those who were married opted for the signature arm bouquet. A sight to behold, it was about three feet in length. The roses were wrapped in abaca backing and accented with colored sinamay. They also often chose just one color for their rose options.

Young couples, or those in the early stages of their relationship, however, preferred the handheld circular bouquets and played around more with color combinations.

Indecisive

 

Selling roses during Valentine’s season was generally a breeze, but dealing with difficult clients was also inevitable. There were a lot who insisted they knew the roses better than you did, and their arrogance made it pointless to explain.

 

There were also customers that were indecisive, changing their orders even after you’d handed them a receipt. One couple also asked me to recompute their bill more than four times, which felt like they were trying to cheat me into giving them a discount. I asked someone else from our team to assist them. Before they left, the couple commented on how masungit I was, even if they bought a lot of flowers from us.

 

There were also pesky ones who asked for discounts I wasn’t free to give, and these I learned to let go of as I walked towards customers more eager to learn about roses.

 

What helped me suggest rose choices were the recipient, the relationship, and their favorite colors. But I also assisted a lot of customers who asked what I would personally like to give or receive. Sometimes, the small talk with these clients felt like a family reunion, with everyone interested in your love life.

 

“It must be hard for your boyfriend, having to choose among all these expensive roses’ colors,” most of them said. I would instantly quip that it’s harder to choose a boyfriend. Others would ask what roses my “boyfriend” gave me, and I’d joke around and ask them to give me a boyfriend first. We all had a hearty laugh.

 

There was also a grandma who said that before she became a widow, she prayed that she would be blessed with a man. She took my hands and told me, “Don’t pray for a boyfriend, nor a husband. Pray for guidance.” I don’t need guidance in being single, though—I think I’m doing really well.

 

Among all those conversations, the most memorable one was when I was explaining how a rose had a certain effect on a person. “I immediately fell in love with this color,” a customer told us as he paid for his bouquet of 3D roses in mixed colors of peach and red wine.

 

I replied, “It’s because the rose symbolizes falling in love, as it does the changing colors of the sunset.” He asked me if I was seeing anyone, and I answered with a no. “You should date someone as romantic as you,” he told me, “maybe a poet.” Maybe I will.

 

But the craziest part of these pseudo-reunion small talks were my Lola Ganda and her amigas. Whenever I had a cute customer, they would silently judge our “combined auras” and tell me if we looked good together. Most of the attractive guys who visited our booth already had someone special to give the roses to, I told them. They snapped back at me, “That’s why you ask them first who they’re giving it to! They might be giving it to their moms.”

 

Eventually they agreed to make it their own Valentine’s project to find me a Sunday date, and thankfully they failed.

 

I really wouldn’t have chosen to spend my Valentine’s Sunday differently. It was a date with beauty, and the discovery of floristry as art—a day when I tried to find the words that helped people realize what kind of love they felt for a person. And I guess my customer was right—I should find someone as romantic as I am.