Nothing makes me crazier than when I see a kid (perhaps my own) take a giant cup and fill it to the brim with 44 ounces of orange juice. Don’t these kids realize that juice is a precious commodity? It isn’t called “liquid gold” for nothing, you know.
When I was a kid juice was a treat. On the rare occasion we were given a splash it would be served in a special glass – a juice glass – that was basically an over-sized shot glass. And it would cost at least $3.95 for the privilege. No one ever complained, however, because we knew how lucky we were just to taste the fruit of the branch.
I knew how hard juice was to extract because my grandparents in Florida had a hand juicer. And it would take 14 oranges, 20 minutes and a case of carpal tunnel just to get a thimble-full. Remember when people would bring those giant mesh bags of oranges home from vacation? That would produce maybe one glass of juice, if you were lucky.
Now kids’ll callously pour a year’s supply, take two sips and throw away the rest. If I see this about to happen I swoop in and rescue that juice like it was a puppy in a burning building, bellowing “DON’T WASTE THE PRECIOUS!” like some Semitic Smeagol.
My theory is that this is the unintended consequence of OJ Simpson’s stabby stabby episode. He didn’t just ruin his name, he ruined respect for juice.