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Being a diver, I frequently get into conversations with non-divers about the threat of sharks and how it is so insignificant as not to warrant much energy on my part. I might not want to be paddling about on the surface in tiger shark infested waters, but the truth is that unless you are chumming the waters, the density of shark needed to qualify as ‘infested’ just isn’t common. Besides, I feel that I am much safer under the water than I am slogging about up to my knees near Florida sandbars. Either way though, I rarely devote much thought to the matter. One of my favorite ways to derail the “sharks are scary” train is to bring up a statistic I heard on the Colbert Report. I know it must be valid coming from such a dependable source; while Colbert employees sarcasm and parody to make a farce of right wing fundamentalist ideals, he is generally fairly adept at checking his statistics. I digress. Sharks and vending machines, that is where I was headed. In the context of Discovery’s Shark Week, Colbert points out the somewhat bizarre and obscure fact that more people are killed annually by VENDING MACHINES than by sharks. Yes, vending machines. And if you are anything like me at this point you are raising one eyebrow (or in my case trying to and failing as always) whilst pondering how on earth one gets killed by a vending machine? Perhaps while trying to cheat the system, one may get an arm stuck and subsequently starve to death before rescue arrives. Or maybe that vending machine had been kicked one too many times that day and finally decided to take its revenge via strangling by power cord? Rather, I suppose, vending machines are rather large and heavy and sometimes fall over. A somewhat more common statistic quoted in defense of sharky reputations is that more people are killed each year by coconuts falling from trees.
Tropical fruit probably seems fairly innocent to you but today I was almost beaned by that rogue coconut. I enjoy running at a place called Goodman’s Bay Beach Park and today I took advantage of being in the area to do just that. I warm up by walking a lap – I am a big believer in warm ups and their injury prevention and endurance promoting qualities. Bordering the jogging path on either side are (duh duh dun!) coconut trees. And so the stage was set with my presence, my unprotected noggin and more than a few of those ambushing palm fruits. Sure enough as I strolled along one of those shelled bombs released and plummeted towards me. At precisely that moment I looked down at my untied shoelace and stooped down to tighten it. THUMP. My eyes rose to a patch of ground only six inches in front of me where settled a freshly fallen coconut. Okay, truth be told it was a small coconut and the tree was only about 8 feet high. I don’t THINK that it would have done any fatal damage but I can tell you it would have given me quite a headache and a large lump. I may also have had trouble recalling what had happened in the time surrounding the incident.
Once again, however, I barely escaped the tropical fruit ambush with my life. That is correct, this is not my first battle. My first day back in the Bahamas after teacher training, back in December, I was hunting papaya with Chris and one nearly got the better of me. And when I say nearly, I mean I was the winner solely because I later ate that papaya and so won the war. The first battle, however, went to the fruit.
While I was away at training, Chris discovered papaya in the backyard of our apartment complex. He had talked several times about “hunting papaya”, which seemed at first a less girly sounding way to say “I’m outside picking fruit”. December came around and I jokingly donned my camouflage hat and brandished the ‘spear’ (a broom handle with a steak knife taped to the end). Off we went into the ‘jungle’ to hunt the dreaded papaya. I spotted my quarry: a barely yellow, plump specimen.
I went in for the kill.
But this papaya was not giving up without a fight. All of a sudden. WHACK!
And much to the delight of Chris, I jumped, screamed AND got hit by a melon.
Thus ends the story of the Great Papaya Ambush. Never again will I make fun of papaya hunting. That shit takes skills. Oh yes, and subsequently, if you ask me about my fear of sharks, the answer is that I’m far more afraid of tropical fruits. Especially heavy ones that grown on trees.
