Is that YOUR watermelon?

I haven't written an anecdote-style post on this blog yet, so I figured it was time to change that. Plus, I just discovered the ingenious blog, Hyperbole and a Half, so I wanted to try writing something funny. I will probably fail. Here goes.

I was in Safeway yesterday, helping my mom with groceries. I don't really mind grocery shopping, as grocery stores are an endless source of entertainment for me. As long as you're shopping with someone, you can spend the entire time making random, funny observations. (Although in retrospect, said observations are usually less witty than I originally thought).

Some examples:

-Red Plums resemble internal organs. A good way to point this out is to offer one to the person nearest you and say, “kidney?”

-Bananas secretly rule the world. I mean, look at them. They're invariably arranged around their very own Aztec-style pyramid. At night, they probably cut the pits out of the plums and cast the hollow, dripping carcasses down the temple steps in ritual sacrifice.

-That guy behind the counter at the deli is watching you. The creepy one with the big knife. Yeah, that guy. He's watching you.

So anyway, I was annoying my mom with such observations when she noticed that hair conditioner was on the shopping list. I'm guessing she was glad of the opportunity to be rid of me for a few moments, because she pointed me to the right aisle and told me to go find some.

I'd been staring at the selection of hair-care products for barely a minute when a man suddenly came striding around the corner, pointing at me accusingly.

"Is that your watermelon?" he demanded.

My brain did a quick inventory check. Hands: empty. Pockets: empty. Purse: tiny. 

Error 404: watermelon not found. Still, this guy seemed pretty sure I was guilty of something, so I decided not to deny anything in case he was right and I'd inadvertently acquired a watermelon. Several seconds passed as I tried to formulate a response. Finally I said, "What?"

He pointed again, forcefully. "That watermelon. Is it yours?"

Realizing that he was pointing behind me, I turned. There on the floor, right next to a display of toothbrushes, sat a single, lonely watermelon.

Relief washed over me. I wasn't guilty. He could take me into the Safeway interrogation room and I could look him straight in the face and say that I'd never seen that watermelon before in my life. I had alibis. I was innocent.

I shook my head perhaps a little too emphatically. 

"No," I said.

Without another word, he stormed past me and snatched the melon off the floor. Cradling it like an errant child, he proceeded to convey it back to the produce section.

It was a little while before I remembered what I'd been doing. Eventually, I found the conditioner I was looking for, and took it to my mom. She laughed when I told her what had just happened, and shopping continued as normal.

We were just passing the pharmacy when the man reappeared. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, the light glinting off of his Safeway name-tag as he haphazardly straightened items on the shelves. He was like an angry, very tidy whirlwind. Don't come any closer, I thought. Don't come up to us.

Of course he did.

"Finding everything alright?" he asked in an intense tone of voice generally reserved for sentences like, "Do you need help escaping this burning building?"

I nodded absently, afraid to make eye contact. I couldn't imagine anything more awkward than meeting the eye of a man who had just moments before accused me of watermelon possession. Fortunately, my mom was there, and she politely told him that yes, we were finding everything just fine and thank you very much [please go away].

Apparently satisfied, he hurried off to vigorously rearrange the next shelf in his path.

"Paul Blart, Safeway employee," I remarked very quietly. "That's the watermelon guy."

Mom laughed. "He must be the manager or something."

Probably. I wasn't going to ask, though. Way too dangerous.

Don't get me wrong, Safeway is great; but between watermelon man and that one annoyingly over-helpful employee (I mean, for Pete's sake, lady-- we went to the self-checkout so we could avoid any kind of human interaction), it can be an interesting place to shop. 

Worth the trouble? Donuts say yes.