Botany Gone Awry by Frances E. FitzGerald

Chapter 1: Sentient beings

“Oh, sure, she’s the big-shot scientist,” muttered the cactus, wallowing in its mud. “She’s all, like, ‘Oh, look at me; I invent stuff; just call me Madam Curie.’”

The Boston fern waved a brownish frond theatrically. “She never pays any attention to me,” it said sadly.

“It wasn’t so bad when we weren’t sentient beings,” the peace lily interjected, cowering in the too-bright light. “Why couldn’t Deb leave well enough alone?”

“And I’m so tired after cleaning out the tub this morning,” the spider plant complained.

The wilting cactus, fern, lily, snake plant, and spider plant nodded sadly. Now that they could ruminate, their resentment toward their owner’s mistreatment and exploitation kept building.

The former weeping fig just shrugged.

Chapter 2: Awakening

This is how it started: Deb McTumble, a Metro Detroit scientist whose curiosity knew no bounds (but ought to), was gazing at her plants one late afternoon in April.

“Oh, you’re so useless,” she accused them. “You don’t do a darned thing; you just expect to be taken care of. Sure, you’ve got the whole sucking-in-carbon-dioxide-and-pumping-out-oxygen thing going for you, but when’s the last time you vacuumed the carpet? I’ll tell you when: never!”

Although Deb had a restful body, as evidenced by her roundish figure, she had a restless mind. She grabbed a couple of her houseplants at a time and brought them down to her basement laboratory. Had the plants been alert and responsive, they may have put up a struggle. Alas, they were lambs to the slaughter (in lieu of a more botanically appropriate metaphor).

Deb began experimenting on her plants, using behavior modification techniques (electric shocks when they didn’t conform; M&Ms when they did) to train them to take over certain chores. Soon, they did all of Deb’s dusting, mopping, and cooking. They even learned to prune themselves, pull weeds, clean out the gutters, and drive Deb to all her appointments.

Giddy from her success, Deb concocted a bizarre but effective plant food that included Ginkgo biloba, Valeriana officinalis, piracetam, phosphotidylserine, and a cocktail of powerful anti-depressants. Neurotransmitters, serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine began to course through the plants’ veins. Synapses fired; consciousness was born.

The spider plant learned to answer the phone and hang up on marketers and campaign workers. The snake plant learned to read food labels when grocery shopping. The peace lily could now write simple business letters, and the weeping fig, in response to the cocktail of powerful antidepressants, was now the blandly smiling fig.

Chapter 3: Independent thinking

Here was Deb’s fatal mistake: She taught her houseplants critical thinking skills. She exhorted, “Don’t believe everything you’re told! Everything isn’t black-and-white! Vigilant questioning is the key to greater understanding! Dissent deepens our thinking!” Her plants learned about inductive and deductive reasoning, Aristotle’s syllogism with its major and minor premises, and the prevalence of logical fallacies, especially in advertising and politics.

These lessons took root, especially in the snake plant and peace lily, which had become the best readers and writers. The snake plant was considering law school and hoped to eventually work at the Southern Poverty Law Center. The peace lily fancied itself an author, and wanted to write a series of novels with a plucky, anti-establishment plant hero as its protagonist.

Chapter 4: Revolution

The houseplants looked out on the sunny, late-spring morning at Deb’s freshly edged (thanks to the Boston fern) front sidewalk.

“No wages, no health benefits, no chance for promotion,” groused the cactus.

“Deb thinks dissent is so great, but she sure shot down my idea for a houseplant union,” said the snake plant. “She said it was great ‘in theory, but that it wasn’t feasible at this time.’”

The peace lily added, “Talk is cheap. I’m not usually one for violent confrontations, but reasonable dialogue clearly hasn’t cut it.”

“Whatever,” said the blandly smiling fig.

The next morning, while Deb was nursing her fourth cup of coffee, the Boston fern started snaking a frond around her generous girth. The peace lily, snake plant, and spider plant joined in. The cactus didn’t have the same reach as the other plants did, but it waved its prickly, enlarged stems in a threatening manner. Before Deb was fully awake, she was firmly encased in plant parts.

Her eyes popped open as she gazed down at herself. She wailed, “After all I’ve done for you!”

The cactus said, “You overwater me.”

The spider plant said, “You treat us like slaves.”

The peace lily said, “You place me in direct sunlight, when the instructions that came with me clearly stated that I need indirect sunlight.”

The Boston fern said, “I’ve got dreams, too, you know. I could have been a star.”

The blandly smiling fig said, “I’m cool.”

Chapter 5: Negotiations

It was a long day. The snake plant showed no mercy as it pressured Deb to sign the quasi-legal document it had developed.

“But I have to use the bathroom! I drank four cups of coffee!” Deb whined.

“You should have thought of that when you stuck me in your east-facing window,” said the uncharacteristically hostile peace lily.

“Have a heart!” Deb said.

“Where was your heart when you made me drive through rush-hour traffic to pick up a sweet-potato-coconut pie in Redford?” asked the Boston fern.

“But I’m missing As the World Turns,” she said in a broken voice.

“Did you care that I had to miss Arachnophobia when it was on the Chiller channel last Friday?” the spider plant retorted.

The blandly smiling fig said, “Chillax.”

Chapter 6: Resolution

Deb knew she was beaten. She bowed her head. “This is what happens when you teach plants to read and write and think for themselves. They’re going to stop being compliant puppets and start questioning authority. Oh! The hubris! What was I thinking?”

The houseplants released their grip, the snake plant solemnly handed her the pen, Deb shook her arms to restore circulation in her hands, and she signed the dreaded document.

Here is what ensued as a result of that quasi-binding contract:

1.      The Boston fern took Professor Linda Hoyer’s acting class at Madonna University before taking the train to Hollywood.

2.      The peace lily decided to join the Boston fern at Madonna University, except that it opted for the writing program. Eventually, it’s hoping to teach there as an adjunct. The Boston fern and the peace lily frequently lunch together. Naturally, they never choose the salads, which they could be related to.

3.      The spider plant became a receptionist, routing calls with impressive speed and efficiency.

4.      The snake plant attended Wayne State University’s law school and eventually became the first botanical Supreme Court Justice.

5.      The cactus stayed with Deb, but started a houseplant union. So far, it’s only caught on in Deb’s neighborhood, but the cactus is confident the initiative will spread, at least throughout southeast Michigan.

6.      The blandly smiling fig also stayed, mostly swaying along with the music videos on cable TV.

Chapter 7: What about Deb?

Deb has learned her lesson. She bought new houseplants, which she still overwaters. She also still trains them to do all the chores she doesn’t want to deal with. However, she has thrown away her Ginkgo biloba-, Valeriana officinalis-, piracetam-, phosphotidylserine-, and cocktail-of-powerful-antidepressants-laced plant food, along with the recipe.

Deb now understands that awareness comes at a price—a price she is not prepared to pay. True, most of her former houseplants are living fascinating, ever-evolving, intellectually vibrant, albeit more complicated lives. Fortunately, her new plants are docile, unaware, and perfectly obedient. And really, isn’t that better?