Jerry Zejima: The Story of Jerry Applehead

According to a history book I read only before the final exam, there was once an American pioneer named Johnny Appleseed who introduced apple trees to most of the Midwestern United States.

The updated part of the story is about Johnny’s infamous cousin, Jerry Applehead. Jerry Applehead took his wife Sue to hunt apples and cluttered the orchard with stupid jokes.

Our adventure began when Sue and I drove to Lewin Farm and met Gabriel, a very nice young woman who worked at an orchard stall.

“How about a basket?” She asked.

“I’m a basketball case, so why?” I replied.

“It will be $ 5,” Gabriel said.

“Is there a hundred changes?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Gabriel.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have 100, so here are five,” I handed her a fin and said with a basket.

Then Sue and I headed to the orchard.

If I say so (and I’m trying to), the apples were ripe for picking. And although the orchards also have delicious (both red and gold), Royal Court, Courtland, cameo, Rome, Fuji, Granny Smith, and Stayman, there was a lot to choose from, mainly Mac, Gala, and Honeycrisp. ..

When my daughters Katie and Lauren were children, they hunted apples every year. I also took my granddaughters Chloe and Lily. But this year, Sue and I had almost their place, thanks to Sue’s great ideas, so that we could go alone and avoid traffic comparable to New York City’s rush hour. Big apple.

“There are a lot of big apples here,” I said, picking some Macs and dropping them in a basket.

Meanwhile, Sue chose some of her favorite apples: Golden Delicious.

“You are trying to get the money,” I told her. “And I must be delicious.”

I was surprised she didn’t hit me on my head. At least it would have made applesauce.

I rattled all other kinds of apple products: apple pie, apple cobler, apple juice, apple cider, apple butter, apple fritters, apple strudel, roasted apples, candy apples.

“How about an apple?” I asked.

Sue seemed to need a bottle of Apple Jack.

When the basket was full, I put it back on the stand and Gabriel put it on the scale.

“Apples are 23.5 pounds,” she said. “That’s $ 50.”

I searched for a wallet, but it was only $ 40. Sue had no money.

“We only receive cash,” Gabriel said.

Another customer offered to give me $ 10, but I politely declined.

“There is an ATM in the farm store,” Gabriel said, adding that he had apples until we returned.

Sue and I drove about a mile down the road, withdrew some money and returned to the orchard, where we gave Gabriel $ 50.

“Am ATM stands for Apple Teller Machine?” I wondered.

“It should be,” Gabriel said. “Recently, there was a customer who said he should accept Apple Pay, and another customer who spent $ 198 on apples. He brought a dolly.”

“I think he had his own apple support,” I said.

“Ignore him,” Sue told Gabriel.

“Why?” I said. “Because I’m rotten at the core?”

Then I asked Gabriel what her favorite kind of apple was.

“Honeycrisp,” said Gabriel, who recently graduated from college. “They are almost everyone’s favorites.”

“And like your fingernails, they are bright red,” I said.

“My nails were supposed to be pink,” Gabriel said. “But I think red is more appropriate here.”

“I was lucky that I didn’t break the nails when I chose all these apples,” I said.

“When I get home, I’ll make an apple crisp,” Sue said.

“It looks delicious,” Gabriel said.

“Is it delicious?” I pointed out her careless puns and said. “You are catching up!”

Gabriel smiled and said, “Thank you everyone for brightening my day.”

“This adventure is in a history book,” I told Sue when I got back in the car.

“Except for your stupid jokes,” she replied.

“In Donny Osmond’s immortal words, one bad apple doesn’t ruin the whole bunch, girl,” I said.

Jerry Zejima

Jerry Zezima is the author of the Tribune News Service humor column and the author of five books. Email: Blog:

Jerry Zejima: The Story of Jerry Applehead

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