The man storms in, his reddish brown hair ruffled almost angrily.

He slaps a 20 on the counter, panting, and shouts, "How do you passively-aggressively say 'Fuck you' in flower?!"

The girl behind the counter looks up from her book, sets it down gently, and stands up calmly.

She asks him, "On a scale of one to thirty, how bad is it?"

He replies with a simple, "Forty."

"Oh, a rival. Here, let me get what you need." she states, walking to the back room.

Thirty seconds later~

"Here you go!" she said cheerfully, placing a large bouquet in his hands. "There are mainly yellow carnations, which mean 'you have disappointed me'; and also some orange lilies, which mean 'hatred'. There are also hints of geraniums, 'stupidity'; and meadowsweet, 'uselessness'. That'll cost you fifteen dollars and your phone number."

He blinked. "My phone number?"

"Yes. And fifteen dollars." the girl stated matter-of-factly.

Bewildered, he wrote his number down on the piece of paper she offered him, and got back a five in change.

"Let me know how it goes!" she chimed sweetly, ushering him out the door.