Noni Nomore

I got a new job! But allow me to tell you why I hated Tahitian Noni International.

First off, let me just say that the actual product was horrible. It tastes like what I imagine poop would taste like. It also gave me the runs, and a headache. I can't say for sure that there's causality on the runs and the headache, but I'm at least as certain as the people who claim it's cured theirs.

It was my job (this was in my very job description) to "increase consumerism." I hate consumerism. When I was down in Chile, they used a couple of rocks to prepare entire meals. When I'm in Walmart, I see electric garage door openers, bagel slicers, and colored glue sticks for your hot glue gun. Who needs this crap!? It's only there because people will buy it, and people only buy it because it's there, and the whole system is set up to get someone rich at the expense of others (the customers and the orphans that could benefit from their money if it were more frugally spent).

The corporation seemed a bit too infused with religion. The video we watched during orientation did everything but come out and say that the Nephites in French Polynesia discovered this medicinal plant and passed it down through the generations to us. We were also told on the first day that Pres. Hinckley drinks Noni juice. As though I care about that! One of the "founding principles" of the company is this: "Gratitude--We understand that the product we offer was made by God, not us. We gratefully approach the task of bringing this product to people everywhere." Does that creep out anyone else?

My final complaint has to do with the clients. Tahitian Noni Juice is allegedly marketed with a strategy that presents it as a healthful drink for the elite, along the same lines as day spas and oxygen bars. The horrid elixer is $42/bottle, after all. I suppose if the rich were the only ones buying this product, I would be okay with that. However, most of our calls were from trailer park residents and new immigrants who were trying to sell the juice (did I mention that it's pyramid marketing?). The sad thing is that we were getting calls from all these people who didn't have enough money to see a doctor, so they were calling in to buy the juice as some sort of substitute. Now, we were never allowed to make medical claims about the juice's properties, but Tahitian Noni International had set up a few websites that made medical claims without being officially affiliated with the company. The websites claimed that among other things, the juice could help with obesity, smoking, diabetes, cancer, memory loss, heart disease, migraines, rashes, burns, etc. Basically, the potion would target whichever cells were weakest in a person's body, and heal them. An anecdote was shared about how one woman was told by her doctor not to drink Noni Juice after a liver transplant, since it would strengthen the cells that fight off invaders and would make her reject the new liver. Eventually, I just couldn't do it any more. I couldn't bring myself to upsell the product to another poverty-stricken person.

I had a dream one night that I hated my job. The next morning it was true. After that long day at work, I never went back in again.

I resigned. I know I did because they called to tell me. Actually they told my roommate, "tell him that he's resigned his position here at TNI." And actually it was really me pretending to be my roommate because I didn't feel like talking to them. I still haven't delivered the message to myself that I quit.

Random Reviews

I found out today that Orson Scott Card reviews all sorts of things. I figured I would do something similar. Here goes:

My computer: Ok, it's not even mine. It's just a dumb extra one my roommate set up for me so I would help with the internet bills. The monitor shows everything in black or green only. it makes me really cynical. But then when I'm done, if I look at anything else, it's as though I'm seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. Score:2

Raintree Apartments: Okay, I've never lived there, but I've gotten all kinds of free meals there from the innocent little tenants. I also got tons of clothes out of this big bin in the laundry room. That's the best place to take advantage of in all of Provo. Score: 9

My name is Asher Lev: The language in this book is beautiful. The story is compelling and very relavent to life for a cursed humanities major at BYU. The ending shocked me. I'm not sure if I liked that it led me there. Score: 7.8

Ice cream: I love ice cream. I would probably trade my wife for her weight in ice cream. Good thing I don't have one. It's always been a dream of mine to drive a car that was filled up to my neck in ice cream. I hate that dream. Sometimes if I have too much, I get diarrhea. I guess I'm lactose intolerant, but not lactose close-minded. Score: 9

Isometric dot paper: I don't really understand 3d images. My brain works in words. Isometric dot paper helps me to be able to wrap my brain around space. I just can't stop looking at it. I want to have some right now, and to draw on it. Score: 8

Ballet: I don't get dance. It's an art form that's completely lost on me. It just looks so stupid. I mean, yeah, it's really hard and I can't do it, but that doesn't mean that I have to think it's cool. Some people can tell you the names of every gueat star ever to appear on Star Trek. I can't do that, but I never want to. I hate it. Plus, There's no words in ballet. How boring is that? Score: 0

Blogs: So much time is required for these things. I like being able to rant, but I think the Board is where I get most of that out. Score: 6 3/4

Cooking II

Cooking II
And now, the rest of the story. So last night, after I had let out all my frustrations with my incapacity for culinary prowess, I decided to just make some ramen. It was my roommate's ramen, but I figured I could just float him a dime, and I wouldn't have to hear any complaints. The time was about 4:30 a.m. I was sitting there, proudly boiling that biscuit of noodles, gladly straining the water from them with an old plate (since the strainer was filled with cinnamon and sugar dust), and blithely mixing in the seasoning packet. I took the first happy bite, but to my dismay, something was wrong. The flavor was terrible. It was very strong, and there were hard, crunchy spices in it. When I walked over to the counter, I discovered my mistake: I had put the seasoning packet for the entire box of Rice-a-Roni into my little pathetic bowl of ramen. I forced myself to eat it anyway out of sheer starvation. I later calculated that I had eaten 2,220 mg of sodium. It was awful. I barfed in my mouth a bit as I was climbing into bed during the early minutes of dawn. I ran to throw up outside, and I slipped in the slime from the buttery mess on the floor. After I finished that, I meekly climbed the stairs to my room. Even over the sound of my roommate singing showtunes in the shower, I finally fell asleep, with an empty feeling in my stomach, and one in my gut. I had ruined even ramen. I had failed.

Cooking

I have these four roommates who are all domestic. They grow their own herbs to make pesto, they sit there with their special little appliances and cook elaborate dinners for one. Last night it was split pea soup from scratch. Now, I understand it probably tastes better than Campbell's, but I can't at all imagine that it's so much better that it's worth the effort.

So tonight, at 3:30 a.m., I decided to try to cook some Rice-a-Roni. I freak out whenever I have to follow directions, so I was already in a bad way. I poured the rice vermicelli mix into the stupid medium-sized sauce pan, as i was supposed to. I took the butter out of the fridge, but I dropped about two tablespoons of it onto the floor when I was cutting it. I turned the stove onto medium and began to brown the little worms. Then I realized that I was going to need some water measured out, and due to my cognizance of my Non-verbal Learning Disorder, I began to panic. You see, I have no idea how big two and a half cups is. I grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and filled it, but I couldn't tell at all if I was even close. So then I went frantically looking for a measuring cup. I found a little graduated pitcher thing, but it was full of cinnamon and sugar. Then I decided to pour the cinnamon and sugar into a nearby bowl. Unfortunately, the bowl was some kind of small sieve, and my roommate's sugar mix dumped all over the floor and stuck to the butter. By the time I got the pitcher cleaned out, I turned around and the rice was ON FIRE. Luckily, I had recently broken the smoke alarm, so my roommates didn't have to wake up. I just grabbed the pan and stuck it outside on the porch. The house reeks of burned butter and noodles. That was my last box of food. Now I must resort to either going to bed hungry, or going to the grocery store. I'll probably do the latter. At least i can pick up that pan on my way back in.

The question is why am I so incompetent when it comes to cooking? It is impossible for me. I have ruined over twenty boxes of rice-a-Roni in my lifetime. Gosh! I hate it! So uneconomical. And there's Jayson, totally cooking soup in three separate pans. Of all my shortcomings, this is the one that renders me the most helpless. I have no idea where to turn for help.