Word Count: 1372
THE ‘B’ GRADE
Matthew S. Tapper loved the taste of maple syrup. He had no clue how it was made, and would salivate whenever he saw the ‘B’ grade pasted on a plastic half pint jug.
(Backstory: Not too many years back and for most of his millennial life when money flowed, the good Mr. Tapper went through gallon jugs of ‘B’ grade faster than the 4 or 5 at full throttle between 59th and 86th.)
Deep into his man purse he would dive for the errant coins that vacationed way down below the surface, usually lounging on the bottom.
Lately, the good Mr. Tapper was unable to surface with a fistful of coins or even a single one cent piece. Without even a half pint fix of this famous, addictive sap from Vermont, the good Mr. Tapper drowned in an ocean of anguish. Time and again, he turned to corn syrup, chugging it with abandon, only to realize that corn syrup was no fix and increased his cravings for the ‘B’ grade.
The good Mr. Tapper submerged into a …show more content…
made his move. He bullied several of his short list of friends, extracted what few dollars they could abandon and Hudson’d to the source of his addiction, homesteading in what he soon learned was the idyllic prison and parolee metropolis of Saint Johnsbury; a metropolis known and beloved as St. J to its denizens because Saint Johnsbury took too long to pronounce, took too long to write and took too long to type (New Englanders, known for their brevity prefer the monosyllable in thought, speech and print).
Who among us citizens of the United States of America doesn’t know the reputation for frugality of the New Englander? The good Mr. Tapper knew about this reputation and discounted it as literary license. He was to learn faster than he could chug a gallon of ‘B’ grade that this reputation was no literary license while the information he absorbed from the information hyper highway was literary
THE ‘B’ GRADE
Matthew S. Tapper loved the taste of maple syrup. He had no clue how it was made, and would salivate whenever he saw the ‘B’ grade pasted on a plastic half pint jug.
(Backstory: Not too many years back and for most of his millennial life when money flowed, the good Mr. Tapper went through gallon jugs of ‘B’ grade faster than the 4 or 5 at full throttle between 59th and 86th.)
Deep into his man purse he would dive for the errant coins that vacationed way down below the surface, usually lounging on the bottom.
Lately, the good Mr. Tapper was unable to surface with a fistful of coins or even a single one cent piece. Without even a half pint fix of this famous, addictive sap from Vermont, the good Mr. Tapper drowned in an ocean of anguish. Time and again, he turned to corn syrup, chugging it with abandon, only to realize that corn syrup was no fix and increased his cravings for the ‘B’ grade.
The good Mr. Tapper submerged into a …show more content…
made his move. He bullied several of his short list of friends, extracted what few dollars they could abandon and Hudson’d to the source of his addiction, homesteading in what he soon learned was the idyllic prison and parolee metropolis of Saint Johnsbury; a metropolis known and beloved as St. J to its denizens because Saint Johnsbury took too long to pronounce, took too long to write and took too long to type (New Englanders, known for their brevity prefer the monosyllable in thought, speech and print).
Who among us citizens of the United States of America doesn’t know the reputation for frugality of the New Englander? The good Mr. Tapper knew about this reputation and discounted it as literary license. He was to learn faster than he could chug a gallon of ‘B’ grade that this reputation was no literary license while the information he absorbed from the information hyper highway was literary