Parched on Broadway isn’t a new musical comedy starring Treat Williams, it was my state of being yesterday afternoon after marching around from theater to theater trying to get student tickets for various shows and failing miserably everwhere. (I succeeded tonight, however, with tickets to “Shockheaded Peter” which was awesome and which I will review On The Side.) The point, though, is that I was thirsty—mad thirsty—and hungry too, and like one of those guys crawling through the desert in tattered clothing (except I was wearing my new corduroy jacket that made me look like Woody Allen if Woody Allen were a supermodel) a bright image appeared before me. Was it a mirage? Was it a dream? Was it a Strip Club? It was! I got a job there and I’m quitting this blog business. (They fired me, though, for refusing to shed my corduroy jacket. I’ll never shed my corduroy!)
No, it was JAMBA JUICE. Here’s what it looked like from the inside:
It’s been a while since I’ve smoothied—when I lived in Atlanta, I was a frequent customer at Smoothie King where I’d get a lemon twist with strawberry. Here at Jamba Juice, I stared at the menu lost in a maze of smoothie opportunities.
“Next in line, can I take your order?” said the woman behind the counter.
“Hi,” I said with my winning smile, “What’s YOUR favorite smoothie?”
“Mmmm,” said the woman, “I like Carribean Passion.”
“Do you now?” I said in my best Billy Ocean voice. “I have two plane tickets to the Bahamas with your name on them, let’s make wild passionate love on the beach.”
“Please,” said the woman, “You’re wearing a corduroy jacket. I don’t think I’m your type!”
“You have a point. One Carribean Passion. Small.”
I paid and sat down and watched the team of Jamba Juicers pouring, squiring and scooping liquids and powders into blenders with ice and then setting them awhir. (Is “awhir” a word? It should be!) This is my biggest bone of contention with Smoothie King AND Jamba Juice: those powders. I’m scared of those powders. I don’t like people putting amino acid protein anti-carb Advil cyanide chalk into my drink. It scares me!
Soon they called my name, I got my drink and a straw, took a sip and it was good. The orange and strawberry combo was very bright, a little sharp, and the mango hinted of tropical breezes. All that syrup and powder and ice may be processed and scary, but it’s smooth going down. It tasted fresher than a Smoothie King smoothie, but at the end of the day it’s all the same crap. Sated, I buttoned the middle button of my corduroy jacket and made my way home.
