We talk about shipping as if it were a pause: the plant leaves, some time passes, the plant arrives. In fact it is a short, brutal spell in an environment nobody would ever choose to grow anything in: no light, no airflow, no watering, and a temperature that swings from a frozen depot at four in the morning to a metal van roof at two in the afternoon.
Most plants survive it, which is why the trade keeps posting them. But the survival rate is a number your business sets, mostly without realising, through a handful of decisions: what you pack it in, when you dispatch it, who carries it, and how long it is allowed to be in the dark.
And unlike almost every other loss in horticulture, this one is reported back to you by the person who paid for it. There is no hiding it in a shrinkage figure at year end. It arrives in the inbox, with a photograph attached.