I walked into a flower shop to buy bouquets for my wife and child. I had already chosen one when I noticed an elderly man standing at the door.
Shiny shoes, pleated slacks, an old-fashioned trench coat, and a simple top underneath.
He didn’t look like he was homeless. He was just a poor man. However, he was exceptionally tidy and proud.
A young florist walked up to the old man. Without even looking at him, she said:
— Why are you standing here, old man? Customers are being obstructed by you.
The man simply asked in a low voice, without protesting:
I apologize, Miss. How much does a single Mimosa branch cost?
The girl responded irritably:
— Are you crazy? It’s clear you have no money. Why even ask?
The man carefully removed three crumpled ten-euro notes from his pocket before asking:
Maybe someone in their thirties?
The florist looked at the money, smiled, and removed a nearly dead, drab, and shattered mimosa stem from the basket.
Now take it. Now go.
The man carefully took hold of the branch and tried to straighten it. His expression was so hopeless that when I noticed a tear trickle down his cheek, my heart sank.
I felt a lot of pity for the elderly man, so I decided to discipline the rude and disrespectful florist.
I went up to the florist, furious:
— Do you even know what you’re doing?
She turned to face me, and her face suddenly became pale. She said nothing.
I inquired about the total cost of the basket.
“What?” she asked. “Well, I suppose about two hundred euros.”
I took out the money, handed it to her, then picked up the basket of flowers and offered it to the old guy.
Now take this. You deserve it. Wish your wife a happy birthday.
The man stood there dumbfounded. He gave a silent smile. His eyes were watering, but he kept his grip on the broken branch.
“Come on, let’s go together,” I said.
We went into the business next to it. I bought a cake and a bottle of good wine.
The old man stood with the bouquet still in his hand.
“Don’t worry, Grandpa,” I said. I’m rich. Besides, your wife is loved. Make her happy.
He nodded, unable to hold back his tears.
– We began dating forty-five years ago. She’s sick. But how could I go to her birthday without flowers? Thank you, son.
