I hit a man with a watermelon today.

Swinging like a pendulum from the shopping bag slung low on my shoulder, it connected solidly with his knee, startling a low grunt of discomfort from deep within his subconscious. Too embarrassed to make proper eye contact, I can’t say for certain whether he was in genuine pain or just surprised by the melon’s breach of personal space, but I felt the acute pain of social misconduct.

“So-orry!” The words tumbled out as awkwardly as my unstable footing, lurching forward unsteadily as the bus accelerated at random, up and down the precipitous hills of San Francisco. Still wrestling to gain full control of the wayward watermelon, the weight of it grew more burdensome with every passing city block, threatening to rip lose from the threadbare gussets already straining to contain its girth. Soon it began lashing out at other innocent bystanders, swinging wildly like a mace, threatening to enter full wrecking ball mode if only it could work up the momentum.

Even after muscling into a vacant seat, wedging the bag firmly between my feet, the little round demon still rolled about with abandon, seeking a quick getaway. Clearly, it had dreams of flying freely across the floor, bowling down anything in its path. Fighting for its life as though it understood the fate that lay ahead, it was as inconsolable as it was uncontrollable.

Mercifully, before the melon could detonate in an explosive, sticky blowout or cause further bodily harm, the doors swung open to the sweltering street, dumping us unceremoniously at our destination. Though the encounter may not have ended well for that innocent man on the receiving end of my watermelon’s wrath, his pain was not in vain; successfully taming the beast was a sweet relief, indeed.