Several weeks ago, Blake, Haley, and I made plans to attend the Midwest Succulent Society show thingie at the Cleveland Botanical Gardens, and then we told Henry we were going and that he had to drive us.
That’s his purpose in life, isn’t it?
Honestly, I was mostly just excited to be going on a daytrip with Blake and Haley. They put Chooch in his place effortlessly and it’s really fun for me to watch.
It takes about 2.5 hours, roughly, to get to Cleveland, and since Haley is pregnant, Henry even rented a larger car so she would be more comfortable.
The ride there was uneventful. Chooch talked nonstop and asked us for quarters at every goddamn rest stop and then Blake asked me to put on TT by Twice and I was like MY PLEASURE.
And then it started snowing and Henry’s head was halo’d with expletive-filled thought bubbles and a comic-strip depicting impending doom en route to the plant show.
We arrived unscathed around noon, two hours after the Botanical Gardens opened, and there was still a line outside to get in. That made me nervous. But I’ve been known to stand in long lines to look at a plant.
Shortly after this picture was take-tuck-tooken (GRAMMAR SHOWOFF), some chubby Jonny Craig-looking doucher emerged from the building, toting a big box o’ succs (that’s what we in the scene call succulents), and with his beady little eyes fixated on us line-standers, he called out A LITTLE TOO JOYOUSLY, “Hey guys. The show’s sold out. They’re sending people away.”
As people in line began to murmur to each other, his equally douchey girlfriend echoed his caveat while he stood there looking a bit too smug for my liking.
“That can’t be true,” I said, thinking they were just playing some weird hipster game with us basics. But then a broad with an official Cleveland Botanical Garden nametag AND CLIPBOARD came out and said the same thing, with her face pulled long into a well-rehearsed mask of “I’m so sorry to have to tell you.”
Uh, ok girly sue sue, go fuck yourself.
WITH YOUR CLIPBOARD.
“And even if you come in, there’s still an additional 90 minute wait just to get into the room,” she added for those of us who had the audacity to linger in uncertainty. “You could always come back tomorrow.”
OH REALLY? JUST LIKE THAT? We rented a car for this thing! There were no do-overs! Fuck you and your “come back tomorrow.”
But it was here when I realized that I wasn’t as crestfallen as I anticipated. Maybe I’m over my Succulent Mania? I have been fairly preoccupied with my new k-lifestyle, afterall.
We were going to still pay to tour the gardens, since that was a separate thing altogether. I guess the succulent show was just set up in one room. But then we were all so angry that we decided to just go across the street to the Museum of Natural History, which we had seen on the way there. Fuck you and your lame ass plants, Cleveland. PITTSBURGH HAS PLANTS, TOO.
[Insert a fun-filled recap of our afternoon at the museum, which will be posted about separately, because that’s how I decided to write about our day. OUT OF ORDER AND PIECEMEAL. It’s called “being a fake writer,” guys. You wouldn’t understand. Yawn.]
Right as we were getting ready to leave the museum to go to Melt, Blake checked Facebook and saw that someone from the Midwest Succulent group posted in the event page saying that they had no idea why the employees of the Botanical Gardens were sending people away, that it wasn’t sold out at all!
I was like, “Oh well, it’s too late now” but Blake already had made up his fire-ensconced mind that he was going back over there and they were going to let him in for free.
They melted snow with their footsteps of fury, while Henry and I casually walked back to get the car (and he tried to hold my hand?!). I was content waiting for them in the car, listening to “Cafe” super loud, and hating on all of the smug assholes exiting the gardens with their boxes of trendy plants.
I know, I know–that used to be me! But I wasn’t collecting plants because some home interior blog was telling me to. I was trying to fill the void that Marcy left in my heart when she died and I wasn’t ready to get another pet. I needed something to take care of (lol – something easier than Chooch) so I started a plant orphanage, and then I gave them all names which was dumb because I became infatuated with their imaginary personalities and look where that left me – digging another ditch in my psyche. Which basically looks like an ant farm by now.
(I’m writing this while standing up on the trolley, thanks Henry.)
They didn’t get in for free like they hoped, but Chooch did, only because they faked like they were going to make him wait stay in the entrance area and wait, so the rude Botanibitch employee let Chooch in for free. HA SUCKERS!!
When I saw the two guys in moto jackets and man-buns strut past our car with an armful of cacti and echeveria, I blurted out, “Oh for fuck’s sake, now I’m glad I didn’t go!”
And then when the crew came back (with a small bounty!), they confirmed that it was a pretentious asshole convention up in there. They said the room was very small and packed, most of the plants had been picked over, and the ones that remained looked like they might die in a week.
Chooch said people were literally Facetiming with their friends about which plants to buy (like OMG, what would A Beautiful Mess do??), and that there were more people who were there taking Instagram pictures than actually buying anything.
And all the cacti were gone. :(
But Haley got a hanging plant like she wanted and they also bought us some small succulents, so all was not lost!
My favorite part I think was all the smug and self-righteous plant-whores who posted on the event page saying that people should have gotten there early like they did, pitched a tent outside the greenhouse in the late-March Lake Erie snowfall, and then maybe we would have gotten what we came for. OH OK MIGHTY CLEVELAND RESIDENTS. Why don’t you go sit on that fucking cactus that you beat us to.
Ugh I hate the succulent scene! So many neutral colors and man-buns.
“What? I’m just guarding them. Yeah, that’s all.”
Aaaaaaand this is why I stopped bringing plants into the house. I suppose I could have hanging planters protruding from every ceiling in my house, but I really liked lining my windowsills with interesting/weird/ugly vessels from Goodwill. Boo hiss, cats. Boo fucking hiss.
Nevertheless, I’m still going to repot these babes and put them somewhere, anywhere, and pray that my cats will forget about them.
When I went to work Monday morning, Glenn mockingly asked me how my plant was. And then I told him what I just told you, dear e-diary, but I don’t think he cared.