[ He's found his rhythm in turn; learning to give the flowers a good once over to check for browning and either placing it on the pile of fresh ones or occasionally moving it to another pile when he spots little imperfections.

There's a small frustrated hum at that thought. ]

Eh... prolly better'n just being randomly selected for the job. Imagine being made something you'd be a horrid fit for.

[ A laugh. ]

Couldn't imagine being made a ruddy kitchen god!