Pink-crapberry

I've finally tried Pinkberry. Seriously, after a while, so many people were asking me that I wanted to tell them, "I haven't been to Pinkberry yet. I'll go soon. So quit asking me if I've tried Pinkberry yet. And stop singing that stupid infectiously nauseating song."

I had been curious to see what all the hype is about because people seem to be climbing Mount Everest to get their hands on the stuff. For my first visit, I selected the Koreatown branch as the site of my first visit to the Pinkberry world. First off, the place was beyond packed, like a damn nightclub. The line was out the door and not to mention under some retarded layout because the line was supposed to be for two registers, but one register was basically unreachable because it was all the way over to the left directly behind the napkin bar and a mass of tables serving as an impasse.

I get to the head of the line and asked for a sample of the green tea flavor. EWWWWWWW. What the hell is actually in this stuff? It tasted like green sour spirulina. I opted for the plain flavor, which I assumed was supposed to be vanilla. While it wasn't as bad as the green tea, it still just tasted sour as opposed to sour green tea. I was thinking, how can 10 million anorexic women in California who eat this crap be wrong? Girls, you've disappointed me. I don't know what that stuff is, but it sure ain't frozen yogurt.

Well, actually, Pinkberry's soft serve delicacy does taste like yogurt, which I guess is the appeal, besides the healthiness factor. It literally tastes as if you had taken a carton of Dannon and threw it into the freezer. But still, there was something weird about it. And even if it did taste any better to me, it's just yogurt, not some life-changing experience.

And the manager of the joint was a total douchebag, who felt the need to measure EVERY cup to make sure his employees weren't going over the weight limit. But the dumbass wasn't realizing how much this was holding up the line.

It made me think of a kid having his first cigarette, and it's horrible, and he feels like vomiting, but holds it in and puffs it a bit more because all the cool kids are doing it, and he wants to be cool too. Pretty soon, he gets used to it, and even enjoys the little buzz that comes with the habit. Before you know it, he's smoking two packs a week. But since everyone is trying to be cool like you, EVERYONE is going to buy a pack, and so there's a line at every cigarette store, streaming out the door, inching along every half hour. Another half hour passes, and he finally gets his medium bowl with three toppings of his choice, eating it outside because it's packed like sardines inside with other cool people. Pretty soon, the kid has an epiphany and wonders what the hell he is doing there because he doesn't even like frozen yogurt.