mage
Tue, 04-25-2006, 04:35 PM
Last Friday I went to Jamba Juice, which is more or less a Starbucks but for juices. A health-conscious coworker recommended it to me. One would think it’s a really healthy place since it has a very trendy ambiance inside with its post-modern furniture and decorations. I ordered this orange sherbet drink called the “Orange Dream Machine” that comes with a “protein boost” and “vita(min) boost”. The very Euro cashier recommended it to me when I asked for a drink that would be a good meal supplement. It took him 10 minutes to make the drink, but all he really did was put together a ton of pre-mixed juices in a blender. While I waited, several other people were in line ordering their drinks. They were all women, very healthy looking, dressed professionally. They were all in their late 20s–early 30s. Some could have really been over 40, but their cleverly applied make-up and business attire made it hard to tell. I thought, “surely if these women ate (drank) here, then they must have really good, healthy drinks." I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The juice-maker handed me my drink in an oversized paper cup that must've cost Jamba Juice thousands of dollars to design from the bold graphics and unusual structure. The lid was not just any ordinary fountain drink lid. It had an extended lip (about .5”) that would lock securely around the rim of the cup, and a slight convex dimple in the center to reservoir the thick smoothie. The man behind the counter stared at me to see my initial reaction. The smoothie was very thick and required quite a bit of suction to get it up the length of the wide straw. Just a centimeter before I could taste the smoothie, I finally noticed the man watching me. I turned my back to him and walked way, as to not offend him in case I would react in a manner of utter disgust.
I felt a little uncomfortable carrying such a large drink, so I held it low to my side as I walked out of the store, still having not tasted it. As I turned off 5th avenue onto the much less busy 22nd street, I raised my over-sized cup and started swirling around the smoothie with the straw, analyzing the texture. I took my first sip. Just as I feared, it tasted terrible. It was like drinking crushed ice, slowly melting away, mixed with a million packets of sweet and low. I thought I may have just taken a sip from a more concentrated part of the smoothie, so I stirred some more with the straw to make it more homogenized. I took another sip, and it was just as bad as the first. The texture of it was grainy, and there wasn’t the slightest hint of natural fruit in it. The aftertaste was curiously bitter, and would not only offend my tongue, but I would hate myself a little bit more with each taste. However, I didn’t want to give up on it - well not just yet. I tried to tell my brain that the unpleasantness was the tradeoff for nutrition.
I got back to my office a few minutes later, sat at my desk and started reading Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis (recommended to me from a website), while nursing the smoothie. I was trying to draw myself in to the book to get my mind off the taste in my mouth. Fifteen minutes later, after I finished about three quarters of the drink, I started to feel a little sick in the head, and then the stomach. I threw away the rest of the drink to prevent myself from taking another sip. I went back to my book, trying even harder to lose my mind, which is now drowning with thoughts not only about the taste in my mouth, but the awkward feeling that is spreading throughout my body. I read another page, and decided to stop because I could no longer sit still. I went online to www.dietfacts.com. It’s a pretty good health reference with nutrition facts of many foods both generic and restaurant. To my surprise, I actually found Jamba Juice. I looked up Orange Dream Machine 32oz, and there it was. My jaw dropped as I saw the nutrition content. I wasn’t too surprised by its 750 calories, or its mere 2 grams of fat. Since the webpage window wasn’t maximized, I couldn’t see below the potassium content of the familiar Nutritional Facts graphic. Remembering the basic calorie rule: 9 calories per gram of fat, 4 for protein, 4 for carbs, I thought to myself, “oh shit, this is gonna be bad.” I was almost scared to scroll down to see the carbohydrate content, but I did anyway. 152 grams of sugar. 152! In my entire life, I don’t think I’ve ever had so much sugar in such a short period of time. I started feeling nauseous and anxious. I was already slightly buzzed from the venti Starbuck’s coffee (black) that I already drank in the morning. My mind was racing; though, not in the way that would inspire a man to be productive. All I could think about was trying to get rid of the feeling. Could I vomit it all out? That wouldn’t do too much since the sugars already polluted my brain.
I went over to the water cooler and poured myself an 8oz cup of water, drank it one large gulp, and repeated twice over. I sat back down at my desk, put on the headphones to my iPod, put on some very slow-paced, easy to listen to songs of Barry Manilow and Josh Grobin (I had recently downloaded them after watching an American Idol audition where they were mentioned). I played around with the volume until I could get it to a level where I could have it overtake any outside sounds, without violently reverberating in my now hollowed out head. I replayed the 2 songs over and over again. Three hours had gone by, and I had accomplished very little. The rush was fading away.
On the train ride home, I read more out of Less Than Zero, though it was quite a struggle to concentrate. I wanted, so desperately, to forget about the terrible experience I had just went through - trying to lie to myself to believe it wasn’t that big of a deal. I looked at myself through the reflection of the subway car’s window and saw that I had the most plain and ordinary expression on my face. No emotion, not even the common insecure expression that many people have on reserve to pretend as if something isn’t bothering them - but on the inside, my mind and body was at war. My insecurities and my emotions battling it out with the pains on the surface.
I got home and hopped on the treadmill out of guilt for taking in so much sugar. Started off at a brisk 5.5mph, and then accelerated to a slow-paced sprint at 7mph. Headphones on, listening to the pleasant sounds of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. By the 3rd movement, my mind was free with absolute clarity. I was ready to live another day of my life.
The juice-maker handed me my drink in an oversized paper cup that must've cost Jamba Juice thousands of dollars to design from the bold graphics and unusual structure. The lid was not just any ordinary fountain drink lid. It had an extended lip (about .5”) that would lock securely around the rim of the cup, and a slight convex dimple in the center to reservoir the thick smoothie. The man behind the counter stared at me to see my initial reaction. The smoothie was very thick and required quite a bit of suction to get it up the length of the wide straw. Just a centimeter before I could taste the smoothie, I finally noticed the man watching me. I turned my back to him and walked way, as to not offend him in case I would react in a manner of utter disgust.
I felt a little uncomfortable carrying such a large drink, so I held it low to my side as I walked out of the store, still having not tasted it. As I turned off 5th avenue onto the much less busy 22nd street, I raised my over-sized cup and started swirling around the smoothie with the straw, analyzing the texture. I took my first sip. Just as I feared, it tasted terrible. It was like drinking crushed ice, slowly melting away, mixed with a million packets of sweet and low. I thought I may have just taken a sip from a more concentrated part of the smoothie, so I stirred some more with the straw to make it more homogenized. I took another sip, and it was just as bad as the first. The texture of it was grainy, and there wasn’t the slightest hint of natural fruit in it. The aftertaste was curiously bitter, and would not only offend my tongue, but I would hate myself a little bit more with each taste. However, I didn’t want to give up on it - well not just yet. I tried to tell my brain that the unpleasantness was the tradeoff for nutrition.
I got back to my office a few minutes later, sat at my desk and started reading Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis (recommended to me from a website), while nursing the smoothie. I was trying to draw myself in to the book to get my mind off the taste in my mouth. Fifteen minutes later, after I finished about three quarters of the drink, I started to feel a little sick in the head, and then the stomach. I threw away the rest of the drink to prevent myself from taking another sip. I went back to my book, trying even harder to lose my mind, which is now drowning with thoughts not only about the taste in my mouth, but the awkward feeling that is spreading throughout my body. I read another page, and decided to stop because I could no longer sit still. I went online to www.dietfacts.com. It’s a pretty good health reference with nutrition facts of many foods both generic and restaurant. To my surprise, I actually found Jamba Juice. I looked up Orange Dream Machine 32oz, and there it was. My jaw dropped as I saw the nutrition content. I wasn’t too surprised by its 750 calories, or its mere 2 grams of fat. Since the webpage window wasn’t maximized, I couldn’t see below the potassium content of the familiar Nutritional Facts graphic. Remembering the basic calorie rule: 9 calories per gram of fat, 4 for protein, 4 for carbs, I thought to myself, “oh shit, this is gonna be bad.” I was almost scared to scroll down to see the carbohydrate content, but I did anyway. 152 grams of sugar. 152! In my entire life, I don’t think I’ve ever had so much sugar in such a short period of time. I started feeling nauseous and anxious. I was already slightly buzzed from the venti Starbuck’s coffee (black) that I already drank in the morning. My mind was racing; though, not in the way that would inspire a man to be productive. All I could think about was trying to get rid of the feeling. Could I vomit it all out? That wouldn’t do too much since the sugars already polluted my brain.
I went over to the water cooler and poured myself an 8oz cup of water, drank it one large gulp, and repeated twice over. I sat back down at my desk, put on the headphones to my iPod, put on some very slow-paced, easy to listen to songs of Barry Manilow and Josh Grobin (I had recently downloaded them after watching an American Idol audition where they were mentioned). I played around with the volume until I could get it to a level where I could have it overtake any outside sounds, without violently reverberating in my now hollowed out head. I replayed the 2 songs over and over again. Three hours had gone by, and I had accomplished very little. The rush was fading away.
On the train ride home, I read more out of Less Than Zero, though it was quite a struggle to concentrate. I wanted, so desperately, to forget about the terrible experience I had just went through - trying to lie to myself to believe it wasn’t that big of a deal. I looked at myself through the reflection of the subway car’s window and saw that I had the most plain and ordinary expression on my face. No emotion, not even the common insecure expression that many people have on reserve to pretend as if something isn’t bothering them - but on the inside, my mind and body was at war. My insecurities and my emotions battling it out with the pains on the surface.
I got home and hopped on the treadmill out of guilt for taking in so much sugar. Started off at a brisk 5.5mph, and then accelerated to a slow-paced sprint at 7mph. Headphones on, listening to the pleasant sounds of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. By the 3rd movement, my mind was free with absolute clarity. I was ready to live another day of my life.