1. The cool, or warm, climate: the corporate-backed promise that I will never be made to sweat or shiver unnecessarily while I choose, purchase, and consume my smoothie.
2. The positive yet calming yellow-and-green color scheme, designed to make me feel healthy and centered.
3. The grass. I like to consider it a little lawn—just enough lawn, really. Instead of a vast expanse of grass that it’s virtually impossible to keep healthy, the Jamba Juice lawn is one or two square feet of grass that’s so lush you could drink it.
4. People drinking the grass. I like to watch people take wheatgrass shots. I think, “That grown man just paid several dollars to drink grass, which sounds like something they’d make you do in a Siberian labor camp.” I feel smug and superior, which complements my feelings of health and centered-ness.
5. The massive tip jar. It’s out of all proportion to the number of customers who actually tip at Jamba Juice, and in that respect it reflects a spirit of optimism. It also seems to be the smiling employees’ way of silently saying, “HEY, ASSHOLE, YOU’RE IGNORING THIS GIANT TIP JAR.”
6. The blenders. For one thing, there’s a mild novelty to seeing, in such quantity, an appliance that normally flies solo. For another, there are the shields that drop over the blenders when they’re working. Having, like most people, witnessed or been party to any number of unfortunate blender-generated messes in domestic settings, I like the idea that Jamba Juice is not fucking around, they do this for a living. That’s why they do the sensible thing and use those damn shields. Finally, I like seeing the pile of unwashed blenders. I think, “Wow, I’m glad those dishes aren’t my problem!” while also not feeling guilty about that because I just paid several dollars for a smoothie. I feel content knowing that one or so of those dollars is supporting the cleaning of the blender mess.
7. The notices for community events where you can buy a Jamba Juice and, if you tell them you’re with a Little League team or something, a small portion of your purchase price goes to support that team. Those notices make me glad to live in a world where you can feel like you’re performing a community service when you’re actually doing something as wasteful and indulgent as buying a Jamba Juice. It’s nice to have a lot of different ways you can feel good about yourself.
8. The kids. I watch frazzled parents struggling with them, and it makes me feel validated re: not having any.
9. That little piece of paper they leave on the end of your straw. I don’t generally worry unduly about whether or not anyone’s unhygienically touched the ends of straws I’m about to use, so I enjoy the outrageous extravagance of having had someone go to the trouble of providing material assurance that absolutely no one has ever so much as laid eyes on that naked straw tip I’m about to suckle. Then I think of all the people that’s actually important to, and I think of all the other ways their smoothies could possibly be secretly unhygienic, and I’m wrapped in a tingly feeling of LOL.
10. The fact that I always order a Peanut Butter Moo’d, which, ounce for ounce, is one of the most fattening things you can buy at any fast food restaurant anywhere.

– Jay Gabler

Dedicated to Alexandra Naughton