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Description
Of every person I've delivered flowers to, Margot Tennyson was by far the worst.
She was crazy.
Everyone one at the shop knew it, too. Would they tell the trainee that when she voluenteered for the run? Or how about when she was given the address? Or even lastly told that she would be handling all said deliveries to that house from then on?
Anytime would have worked. Honestly.
I had head someone say something about "crazy habits" but, clueless I, did not expcet it from Margot.
I was so wrong.
Finding her house was easy enough. The only one story building in all of suburban Santa Fe.
It had a chinese flair to it's archectiture, with dragons on podiums and pillars jutting out from the walls. Lattice with the blooming jasime, a cherry tree on the side, the works. Like all other houses, it was painted a darker color red and black against the other brown and whites to keep the paint from fading too quickly.
I parked on the street, pulling out the vase of fresh cut and cooled lillies from the back of the van. I adjusted my name tag, straightened my black, professional work apron, and walked up towards the house.
The porch had no welcome mat, or no doorbell to ring, which was strange, but I carefully held the vase and flowers as I knocked on the door.
After a moment and some shuffling behind said door, I knocked again.
"Hello? Flower delivery for... Magot Tennyson?" I called, unsure if I even had the right house anymore.
The door flew open and I nearly yelped.
A young boy, with thick aviation goggles, repair belt in a vest and slacks squinted up at me. His clothes were spotted with dirt and oil, but he smelled more of clorofilm then he did of metal. He had to be only 13 or 14 years old from his height, and how absolutely pudgy his face still looked.
"It's pronounced Mar-go!" He scolded, grabbing the vase from out of my hands and looking at me like I was some sort of dim-witted idiot.
"And you can just leave them on the porch next time. It would be a lot easier. For the both of us." He glared at me, then slammed the door on my toes.
I stood still, somewhat unsure of what had just happened. Slowly I returned to the van, wondering who the kid had meant by "the two of us." Me and him? Or someone else?
All of these thoughts ran back to back in my head, and it wasn't until I was walking back into the door of the flower shop that I realized.
"That punk didn't pay me!"

That next week there was another delivery to Ms. Tennyson's house, and I jumped on the opportunity.
Not that I had a choice anyway.
I had spent all week screwing up my deliveries. Because of who? That punk kid. Not that he hadn't paid me, (Jason explained to me that they payed on a monthly thing,) but that the kid had the guts to talk to me like that!
Me! Of all people he should know-
"Hey, Ede, what are you doing?" Jason waved his hand infront of my face quickly and I blinked a few times, refocusing my eyes.
"What the hell, Jason." I frowned. "I was ranting on about that kid again in my head, and I was just about to make a point."
He shrugged. "You should get to the delivery before the flowers wilt."
I couldn't stay mad at Jason, sure he was an idiot, a carrot top and the biggest preppy rule follower who always believed that there were greater things in store for him besides the flower buiness, but I couldn't hate him. I wasn't so sure for there was something else for him, but I let him believe that.
"I'm going, I'm going." I twirled the keys in my hand and headed outside to my car, the flowers already inside.
The drive to her house this time was shorter. My mind was buzzing with snappy comebacks and remarks I was going to say to show up that little brat boy.
"You think you can beat me, huh, kid?" I snarked to my hula dancing girl on my dash board, who just kept waving her hips in responce.
"Yeah, I thought so." I agreed, and as I pulled up to the chinese enflamed house. My reponse time from the van to the door was faster than last, and I sharply rapped my knuckles against the door.
Who's the winner now, kiddo?
The door creaked open.
I glanced down to where the kid's face should have shown up, but it wasn't him.
A woman's shirt was there instead. I slowly brought my eyes up to her face, and forcefully changed my smirk to a smile, one for the customer.
"Hello ma'am, are you Margot Tennyson?" I asked with a little pep in my voice.
She moved a puff of curly hair away from her forehead, revealing a trace of thick bandages across her line of vision. A small smile on her lips, and her eyesbrows turned up, not having expected my delivery.
"I am. Please, come in for a moment, won't you?"

Description
Of every person I've delivered flowers to, Margot Tennyson was by far the worst.
She was crazy.
Everyone one at the shop knew it, too. Would they tell the trainee that when she voluenteered for the run? Or how about when she was given the address? Or even lastly told that she would be handling all said deliveries to that house from then on?
Anytime would have worked. Honestly.
I had head someone say something about "crazy habits" but, clueless I, did not expcet it from Margot.
I was so wrong.
Finding her house was easy enough. The only one story building in all of suburban Santa Fe.
It had a chinese flair to it's archectiture, with dragons on podiums and pillars jutting out from the walls. Lattice with the blooming jasime, a cherry tree on the side, the works. Like all other houses, it was painted a darker color red and black against the other brown and whites to keep the paint from fading too quickly.
I parked on the street, pulling out the vase of fresh cut and cooled lillies from the back of the van. I adjusted my name tag, straightened my black, professional work apron, and walked up towards the house.
The porch had no welcome mat, or no doorbell to ring, which was strange, but I carefully held the vase and flowers as I knocked on the door.
After a moment and some shuffling behind said door, I knocked again.
"Hello? Flower delivery for... Magot Tennyson?" I called, unsure if I even had the right house anymore.
The door flew open and I nearly yelped.
A young boy, with thick aviation goggles, repair belt in a vest and slacks squinted up at me. His clothes were spotted with dirt and oil, but he smelled more of clorofilm then he did of metal. He had to be only 13 or 14 years old from his height, and how absolutely pudgy his face still looked.
"It's pronounced Mar-go!" He scolded, grabbing the vase from out of my hands and looking at me like I was some sort of dim-witted idiot.
"And you can just leave them on the porch next time. It would be a lot easier. For the both of us." He glared at me, then slammed the door on my toes.
I stood still, somewhat unsure of what had just happened. Slowly I returned to the van, wondering who the kid had meant by "the two of us." Me and him? Or someone else?
All of these thoughts ran back to back in my head, and it wasn't until I was walking back into the door of the flower shop that I realized.
"That punk didn't pay me!"

That next week there was another delivery to Ms. Tennyson's house, and I jumped on the opportunity.
Not that I had a choice anyway.
I had spent all week screwing up my deliveries. Because of who? That punk kid. Not that he hadn't paid me, (Jason explained to me that they payed on a monthly thing,) but that the kid had the guts to talk to me like that!
Me! Of all people he should know-
"Hey, Ede, what are you doing?" Jason waved his hand infront of my face quickly and I blinked a few times, refocusing my eyes.
"What the hell, Jason." I frowned. "I was ranting on about that kid again in my head, and I was just about to make a point."
He shrugged. "You should get to the delivery before the flowers wilt."
I couldn't stay mad at Jason, sure he was an idiot, a carrot top and the biggest preppy rule follower who always believed that there were greater things in store for him besides the flower buiness, but I couldn't hate him. I wasn't so sure for there was something else for him, but I let him believe that.
"I'm going, I'm going." I twirled the keys in my hand and headed outside to my car, the flowers already inside.
The drive to her house this time was shorter. My mind was buzzing with snappy comebacks and remarks I was going to say to show up that little brat boy.
"You think you can beat me, huh, kid?" I snarked to my hula dancing girl on my dash board, who just kept waving her hips in responce.
"Yeah, I thought so." I agreed, and as I pulled up to the chinese enflamed house. My reponse time from the van to the door was faster than last, and I sharply rapped my knuckles against the door.
Who's the winner now, kiddo?
The door creaked open.
I glanced down to where the kid's face should have shown up, but it wasn't him.
A woman's shirt was there instead. I slowly brought my eyes up to her face, and forcefully changed my smirk to a smile, one for the customer.
"Hello ma'am, are you Margot Tennyson?" I asked with a little pep in my voice.
She moved a puff of curly hair away from her forehead, revealing a trace of thick bandages across her line of vision. A small smile on her lips, and her eyesbrows turned up, not having expected my delivery.
"I am. Please, come in for a moment, won't you?"