How I was saved from my super stupid
Easter Day blunder (back in 1997)

In yesterday's post, I shared the beginning of an embarrassing story from when I was nineteen years old (if that's any excuse).

I had been put in charge of managing six greenhouses containing $30,000 worth of begonias and hibiscus back in 1997. It was Easter weekend, at a Hindu monastery in Southern California — where I lived for three years with fifty to a hundred monks, volunteer residents (like myself) and guests on retreat.

We all came to learn about spirituality, we ended up learning more about morality — such as how to be responsible, keep our word and focus.

That weekend, I was given the responsibility of turning on the greenhouse fans and opening the doors and flaps if the sun came out. It was a cloudy April morning up there in the mountains with frost on the ground. The plants were more in danger of freezing than frying.

So I joined everybody else to watch a three-and-a-half-hour screening of the 1959 epic film, Ben Hur, in the barn. We were allowed to watch only one movie a month (which is more than I watch now) and I didn't want to miss seeing the famous chariot race in the Circus Maximus.

But when I came out of the dark barn, the sun was out and the plants were surely frying.

I ran down the hill faster than Charlton Heston's chariot heading for the nearest greenhouse. As I ran through the shed that fronted it, I felt a wave of relief (as well as humidity) to see the greenhouse door open wider than Christ's tomb. The fans were also rumbling.

I ran to the next greenhouse and saw the same thing.

By the third greenhouse, I ran into the hero of the story (which, sadly, wasn't me). Brother David was standing by the table where we grew sprouts for the kitchen. He was my supervisor. And he didn't look happy.

He handed me one of the containers of sprouts. They were all dried up.

"What about the flowers?" I said, looking at the watering tables and hanging plants.

"They're okay," he said in his Aussie accent. "Bone dry, but they'll survive. Another ten minutes and..."

I felt a shiver go down my spine.

Brother David added, "There are like $30,000 worth of plants here, you know."

I nodded. I didn't try to make any excuses. I just said:

"I'm sorry. I'll make sure everything is watered."

He nodded.

I spent the rest of Easter Day resurrecting a few thousand plants from the verge of death.

I also dumped all the dried-up sprouts in the compost. I wasn't too upset about the sprouts themselves, as I dislike sprouts. But I was pretty disappointed with myself. I'd travelled across the continent to this remote monastery to become "spiritually enlightened" and yet I'd failed at a job so simple a kid could have done it.

Needless to say, I stayed until sunset. When I was closing the greenhouse up Brother David said to me: "If it's any consolation, you weren't the first to do this. Tom and Marcus did the same last month."

Tom was a fifty-year-old American and Marcus an Eastern European in his early forties. So it wasn't just the stupid Canadian teenager who couldn't be trusted.

"Tomorrow," continued Brother David, "we're going to have to have a meeting."

I've never forgotten what was said at that meeting. In tomorrow's post, I'll share the life-changing details.

John C.A. Manley

PS For another story about not neglecting one's duty, check out the Babylon Bee's Easter skit: Roman Soldiers Excited For Super-Easy Job Guarding Tomb Of Some Jewish Guy 

John C. A. Manley is the author of Much Ado About Corona: A Dystopian Love Story, the forthcoming All The Humans Are Sleeping and other works of speculative fiction. Get free samples of his stories by becoming a Blazing Pine Cone email subscriber at: https://blazingpinecone.com/subscribe/