Poinsettias are the ubiquitous post-winter graduation gift. Leftover from the commencement ceremony, the college campus is adrift in poisonous red-leafed potted plants. Shrewdly disguised as philanthropy, this “gift” requires a new daily task: Not Killing the Plant.
Minimal amounts of research indicate that this plant in my office is going to die. Plant needs light. I live in a cube. Plant needs fertilizer, plant cannot tolerate drafts, plant grows and needs a bigger pot. The plant is going to die in my office. The only variable is when.
However, this little guy was tenacious. At the end of each workday, the boss stopped by the filing cabinet to spill what remained of the day’s Diet Coke into Poiny’s dirtbed. “See?” he said to me as Poiny slurped it up, “he likes it!”
On a steady diet of Diet Coke and neglect, Poiny grew and grew. “What are you feeding this guy?” guests asked me as they wandered by. I was not feeding him. Or watering him. Point of fact, I paid zero attention to the plant on the filing cabinet and expected one day to walk in and find him leafless and brown.
As Poiny continued his steady regimen of soda fountain Diet Coke, the comments changed to criticisms. “That plant needs to be repotted.” “It’s overgrown.” “You should take it home and re-plant it.”
Contrary to popular and unsolicited opinion, Poiny stayed at the office that weekend.
On Monday, the plant was still red, leafy, and possibly bigger than ever. However, there was something new. The whole office suite — in fact, the whole building — had a new, grotesque odor. It smelled like a diseased organ or fish gone bad or that time I left a bologna sandwich in the car over a long summer weekend in Florida.
Office workers were sniffing around the building, their cheeks scrunched up against their eyes as they tried to seek out the origin of the stench.
But I knew. As soon as I walked in, I knew.
I put Poiny in my trash can. The monstrosity barely fit and the trash can did not suppress the odor.
“You can’t throw that away! Look at how big and red and pretty it is!” I asked the concerned coworker if she would like to take it home, but she declined.
So I brought the sicko plant into the stairwell. I abandoned it there while I called around to see who could take the plant, meanwhile hearing the occasional passerby observe how unusually malodorous the stairway was. Finally, at the end of my list of bleeding heart horticulturists, I found a secretary across campus who said she would come get the plant. She instructed me to leave it in front of the building.
“Good-bye, Poiny,” I said, while holding my nose. “You might want to consider giving up diet soda. I’m just saying.”
A few hours later, the bleeding heart secretary called me to tell me that she came to pick up the plant, but it was gone.
Someone had stolen a smelly, Diet-Coke-addicted plant. Hopefully, rehab worked out for him.
Xtreme Secretary 