Capping the Sugar

Leaving a diner sugar pourer with its metal spout flap wedged wide open is an open invitation to clumpy catastrophe. Autumn air carries dampness, and before you know it, honest granulated sugar turns into a petrified brick that refuses to budge. I paced across the speckled laminate counter, stepped right past an abandoned stoneware coffee mug, and braced my sneakers against the fluted glass ribs. With one decisive downward press of my palm, I nudged the hinged chrome flap flush against the spout until it snapped shut with a crisp click. Sugar demands discipline to stay dry. If folk want a sweet cup, they can learn to tip the jar like civilized people.