The slogans were in that genre often called Orwellian, which is to say they were ominous in their insincerity and unsettling in their contradictions and their imposition on workers who seemed unlikely to agree wholeheartedly with them or to be wearing them by choice. But it wasn’t coveralls I’d come to see. It was roses and the labor that produced those roses. And soon enough we were in one of the dozens of greenhouses.
