Ficlet: "The Very Best Juice for the Very Best Kids", Xander, G
The Very Best Juice For the Very Best Kids
By: Phendog
Character: Xander, age 9
Rated: E for everyone, G for general, or FRC which means, as far as I can tell “Fan Rated Child appropriate”...although I don't know that I'd let my kid read this anyway...not unless I gave him Juicy Juice.
Summary: The dangers of believing advertising and reading nutrition labels.
Warning: I’m evil… I really am. Sorry.
A/N: Okay, so this is based on a commercial that’s on TV NOW and Xander is 9 years old in this fic…so sue me, it’s fanfic.
A/N2: And, um, in case you’re wondering the ingredients on Xander’s juice box just so happen to correspond to the ingredients of Fanta Orange Juice, as sold in the US. (as sold in other countries, it occasionally has 5%, 8%, or even *gasp* 10% real juice)
A/N3: McDonald’s hamburger patties do smell like rotten meat. Don’t believe me? Smell one. I don’t understand it, nor do I want to.
“Xander!” his father’s voice bellowed, “If you want your breakfast while it’s still hot, you’ll have to turn off that damn TV and get your butt in here.”
Young Xander sighed, feeling not particularly hungry, as he sipped his juice carton and continued watching his Saturday morning cartoons. Scooby Do and Shaggy were running down a spooky castle corridor away from what appeared to be an animated white sheet playing at being a ghost. He knew he didn’t want to have to make his father yell again, but he also knew his father was likely to forget about it entirely, and he really wanted to finish watching the episode and see who was the “Phantom of Robber’s Marsh.” Unfortunately, Daphne got captured and Thelma’s computer broke before they could catch the phantom.
Commercials came on and Xander watched impatiently as misguided advertisers tried to sell him Happy Meals and dolls that wet themselves. He’d already eaten so many Happy Meals in his life, he thought he might die happy if he never saw another one. It wouldn’t be so bad if his dad would let him get nuggets, but it always had to be hamburgers because those were the cheapest. No cheese either. Xander liked hamburgers well enough in general, but the ones at McDonald’s smelled like rotten meat. Oh well…at least the fries were okay. And as for dolls, he could play with them as much as he wanted every time he was over at Willow’s. She didn’t mind, even though she usually wanted to wrap both them and Xander in bandages and play doctor.
The next advertisement started out showing a mother wheeling her kid through a grocery store in her grocery cart. They passed displays of fruit, and the commercial said “Would you buy the ones you love fruit with artificial ingredients?”
The woman wrinkled her nose at little placards by the fruit which said words that Xander didn’t fully recognize. Limes with signs that said ‘contains sodium benzoate,' apples 'sweetened with sucrose,’ and strawberries ‘artificially colored with red #40.’
“Then don’t buy them juice with artificial ingredients either. Buy Juicy Juice.” Xander perked up. That was the brand Willow’s mother bought. He remembered drinking it from when he was over at her house.
The woman on TV smiled and picked up a bottle of Juicy Juice while the voice-over continued. “No artificial flavors or colors. No added ingredients or preservatives.” The kid from the cart now held the Juicy Juice and smiled while he sipped it through a straw.
“The Very Best Juice for the Very Best Kids,” the commercial announced before ending and switching to a commercial for Oreos that showed a kid and his dad twisting them and dunking them into milk-something Xander had never seen his father do alone, much less with him.
A sudden though occurred to him and Xander turned his attention from the television to glance down at the label on his own juice carton:
Water, high fructose corn syrup and/or sucrose, citric acid, sodium benzoate (to protect taste), modified food starch, natural and artificial flavors, sucrose acetate isobutyrate, sodium polyphosphates, coconut oil, yellow 6, brominated vegetable oil, ascorbic acid, red 40, dioctyl sodium sulfosuccinate.
“Citric?” he thought frantically. That sounded kinda like ‘CitruCal,’ the stuff his mother drank. That was orange flavored so maybe citric had something to do with oranges at least. Were coconuts a fruit? And corn syrup and vegetable oil…what were corn and vegetables doing in orange juice?
He felt his heart drop, as he desperately scanned the label. The word “juice” didn’t appear anywhere in the ingredients and neither did the word “orange.” Xander couldn’t even pronounce most of the words that were there, even though he had an aching suspicion that half of the words were the bad things mentioned in the commercial. The things you didn’t give to the “Very Best Kids” or the “ones you loved.”
“Xander!” his father yelled. “Turn off that crap and get in here!” Knowing it wasn’t a good idea to dawdle any longer and not having much more interest in the cartoon anyway, Xander obeyed, sulking into the kitchen and clutching his juice box with disheartened apathy.
He sat on his stool while his mother slapped a plate of grayish looking scrambled eggs and some greasy sausage in front of him. “Eat up, Xander. It’s already cold.”
It was, and Xander found himself not really wanting to eat it, even as he shoved it in his mouth anyway. He looked at the juice box again. Not 100% juice. Not the Very Best Kid. No percent juice at all, actually.
“Mom? What percent am I worth?” he asked.
“What?”
“I mean, can I have real orange juice?”
His mom heaved a sigh and shoved his juice box toward him. “You can have this.”
Xander felt his throat get tighter and tears come to his eyes.
Willow was a good kid. She got good grades, she picked up her toys, and Mrs. Rosenberg told her daughter that she loved her, even when Xander was around and could hear. She got Juicy Juice.
Xander’s own mother only said the words very rarely and only when they were alone, furtively, as if afraid someone else might be listening in to something shameful. Usually his parents just told him what he’d done wrong.
He wasn’t a good kid, and he knew it. He didn’t deserve 100% juice or any percent real juice at all for that matter.
Xander set down his juice box without taking another sip and felt the tears begin to slide down his face, hoping his parents wouldn’t notice as he pushed the cold eggs around his plate.
By: Phendog
Character: Xander, age 9
Rated: E for everyone, G for general, or FRC which means, as far as I can tell “Fan Rated Child appropriate”...although I don't know that I'd let my kid read this anyway...not unless I gave him Juicy Juice.
Summary: The dangers of believing advertising and reading nutrition labels.
Warning: I’m evil… I really am. Sorry.
A/N: Okay, so this is based on a commercial that’s on TV NOW and Xander is 9 years old in this fic…so sue me, it’s fanfic.
A/N2: And, um, in case you’re wondering the ingredients on Xander’s juice box just so happen to correspond to the ingredients of Fanta Orange Juice, as sold in the US. (as sold in other countries, it occasionally has 5%, 8%, or even *gasp* 10% real juice)
A/N3: McDonald’s hamburger patties do smell like rotten meat. Don’t believe me? Smell one. I don’t understand it, nor do I want to.
“Xander!” his father’s voice bellowed, “If you want your breakfast while it’s still hot, you’ll have to turn off that damn TV and get your butt in here.”
Young Xander sighed, feeling not particularly hungry, as he sipped his juice carton and continued watching his Saturday morning cartoons. Scooby Do and Shaggy were running down a spooky castle corridor away from what appeared to be an animated white sheet playing at being a ghost. He knew he didn’t want to have to make his father yell again, but he also knew his father was likely to forget about it entirely, and he really wanted to finish watching the episode and see who was the “Phantom of Robber’s Marsh.” Unfortunately, Daphne got captured and Thelma’s computer broke before they could catch the phantom.
Commercials came on and Xander watched impatiently as misguided advertisers tried to sell him Happy Meals and dolls that wet themselves. He’d already eaten so many Happy Meals in his life, he thought he might die happy if he never saw another one. It wouldn’t be so bad if his dad would let him get nuggets, but it always had to be hamburgers because those were the cheapest. No cheese either. Xander liked hamburgers well enough in general, but the ones at McDonald’s smelled like rotten meat. Oh well…at least the fries were okay. And as for dolls, he could play with them as much as he wanted every time he was over at Willow’s. She didn’t mind, even though she usually wanted to wrap both them and Xander in bandages and play doctor.
The next advertisement started out showing a mother wheeling her kid through a grocery store in her grocery cart. They passed displays of fruit, and the commercial said “Would you buy the ones you love fruit with artificial ingredients?”
The woman wrinkled her nose at little placards by the fruit which said words that Xander didn’t fully recognize. Limes with signs that said ‘contains sodium benzoate,' apples 'sweetened with sucrose,’ and strawberries ‘artificially colored with red #40.’
“Then don’t buy them juice with artificial ingredients either. Buy Juicy Juice.” Xander perked up. That was the brand Willow’s mother bought. He remembered drinking it from when he was over at her house.
The woman on TV smiled and picked up a bottle of Juicy Juice while the voice-over continued. “No artificial flavors or colors. No added ingredients or preservatives.” The kid from the cart now held the Juicy Juice and smiled while he sipped it through a straw.
“The Very Best Juice for the Very Best Kids,” the commercial announced before ending and switching to a commercial for Oreos that showed a kid and his dad twisting them and dunking them into milk-something Xander had never seen his father do alone, much less with him.
A sudden though occurred to him and Xander turned his attention from the television to glance down at the label on his own juice carton:
Water, high fructose corn syrup and/or sucrose, citric acid, sodium benzoate (to protect taste), modified food starch, natural and artificial flavors, sucrose acetate isobutyrate, sodium polyphosphates, coconut oil, yellow 6, brominated vegetable oil, ascorbic acid, red 40, dioctyl sodium sulfosuccinate.
“Citric?” he thought frantically. That sounded kinda like ‘CitruCal,’ the stuff his mother drank. That was orange flavored so maybe citric had something to do with oranges at least. Were coconuts a fruit? And corn syrup and vegetable oil…what were corn and vegetables doing in orange juice?
He felt his heart drop, as he desperately scanned the label. The word “juice” didn’t appear anywhere in the ingredients and neither did the word “orange.” Xander couldn’t even pronounce most of the words that were there, even though he had an aching suspicion that half of the words were the bad things mentioned in the commercial. The things you didn’t give to the “Very Best Kids” or the “ones you loved.”
“Xander!” his father yelled. “Turn off that crap and get in here!” Knowing it wasn’t a good idea to dawdle any longer and not having much more interest in the cartoon anyway, Xander obeyed, sulking into the kitchen and clutching his juice box with disheartened apathy.
He sat on his stool while his mother slapped a plate of grayish looking scrambled eggs and some greasy sausage in front of him. “Eat up, Xander. It’s already cold.”
It was, and Xander found himself not really wanting to eat it, even as he shoved it in his mouth anyway. He looked at the juice box again. Not 100% juice. Not the Very Best Kid. No percent juice at all, actually.
“Mom? What percent am I worth?” he asked.
“What?”
“I mean, can I have real orange juice?”
His mom heaved a sigh and shoved his juice box toward him. “You can have this.”
Xander felt his throat get tighter and tears come to his eyes.
Willow was a good kid. She got good grades, she picked up her toys, and Mrs. Rosenberg told her daughter that she loved her, even when Xander was around and could hear. She got Juicy Juice.
Xander’s own mother only said the words very rarely and only when they were alone, furtively, as if afraid someone else might be listening in to something shameful. Usually his parents just told him what he’d done wrong.
He wasn’t a good kid, and he knew it. He didn’t deserve 100% juice or any percent real juice at all for that matter.
Xander set down his juice box without taking another sip and felt the tears begin to slide down his face, hoping his parents wouldn’t notice as he pushed the cold eggs around his plate.