I went into a flower shop to buy bouquets for my wife and daughter. I’d already chosen one when I suddenly saw an old man standing at the entrance.
An old-fashioned raincoat, wrinkled pants, boots, and a simple shirt underneath.
He didn’t look like a homeless person. He was simply poor. But at the same time, surprisingly neat and proud.
A saleswoman, a young girl, approached the old man. She didn’t even look at him, but immediately began talking:
“Why are you standing here, Grandpa? You’re disturbing the customers.”
The old man didn’t protest, but only said softly:
“Excuse me, girl… How much is a sprig of mimosa?”
The girl said, irritated.
“Are you crazy? I see you don’t have any money. Why are you asking?”
The old man took three crumpled ten-dollar bills from his pocket and asked cautiously:
“Maybe you can find something for thirty?”
The saleswoman looked at the money, grinned, and took a nearly lifeless mimosa stem from the basket—broken, dull.
“Here, take this. Get out of here.”
The old man carefully picked up the branch and then carefully tried to straighten it. At that moment, I saw a tear roll down his cheek, and there was such despair on his face that I became bitter.
I felt so sorry for the poor old man and decided to teach the rude, ill-mannered saleswoman a lesson.
Continued in the first comment 👇👇
A rude saleswoman sold an old man a broken mimosa branch: I couldn’t resist and decided to help the old man.
I walked up to the saleswoman, overcome with rage:
“Do you even understand what you’re doing?”
She turned and looked at me, her face paling. She was silent.
“How much is the whole basket?” I asked her.
“What?” Well, about two hundred euros, I think,” she mumbled.
I took out the money, gave it to her, picked up the basket of bouquets, and handed it to the old man.
“Here, take it. You deserve it. Congratulate your wife.”
The old man stood there, unable to believe his eyes. He smiled softly. Tears flowed, but he continued to hold the broken branch tightly.
“Let’s go together,” I suggested.
We went to a nearby shop. I bought a cake and a bottle of good wine.
The old man stood there, still holding the bouquet.
“Grandpa,” I said, “Don’t worry. I have money. And you have a beloved wife. Make her happy.”
He nodded, unable to hold back his tears.
“We’ve been together for forty-five years… She’s sick… But how could I come to her birthday without flowers? Thank you, son…”
