I’ve always had this theory that when you open up a hydrogen tank and an oxygen tank and have the chemicals mix together in a vat, you’ll have pure water. It doesn’t work that way, I know. You know? Great!
The key to clean and healthy living is eight full glasses of water, but most people aren’t content with “just water.” There’s ionized water, alkaline water, water sourced from the natural springs of Heaven-Knows-Where. I wouldn’t be surprised about one day seeing water extracted from the blossoms of the jacaranda tree. They found bubbly water somewhere in Italy, labeled it “San Pellegrino,” and it tastes no different from pitcher-water you get “free” from Starbucks. Or bottled piss, for that matter; the next big wave in health-conscious products may involve urine therapy.
Enter Vitwater. It’s not the first fortified water product on the market, and it’s definitely not the first product endorsed by Manny Pacquiao. “Vitamin-enhanced flavored water” makes me think of buying juice, if not for the fact that it is juice. It detoxifies… just like water. It quenches your thirst… just like water. It’s liquid and based on two important chemical elements that make the world go round… just like water. I could just as easily make painkiller water by crushing ibuprofen and acetaminophen and dissolving it in tap water and market it to children. I’ll make millions out of wrist-slashing emo kids.
Nah, I wouldn’t make a blog post detailing the facts of water and the foibles of vitamin-enhanced products with no therapeutic claims. The champions of Vitwater will probably find this post and give me grammatically-inconsistent e-mails and comments telling me that they’ll make it their life’s mission to out me and make me famous.
Everytime I buy Vitwater, I fight a battle that I cannot win. Lots of people already have problems opening a bottle of Vitwater as it stands, but I can never open the damn thing. I’ve tried it all: wrapping the cap with a handkerchief, slicing the seal-tabs (whatever they’re called) with the thinnest parts of my keys, banging the cap on a wall… but it never opens. There was a time I was screaming and wincing in pain just opening the bottle, as the spurs in my wrists just grated together. All I ever wanted was a damn drink, and the damn bottle had to subject me to torture.
So I go back to the 7-Eleven, ask the attendants to open the bottle for me, and they start using the shop’s knife. I wonder how many people had to go back to the store to have their Vitwater bottles opened.
Heto na po bote nyo Ma’am… ay Sir, este, sorry po. Ah, the travails of being a carpal tunnel syndrome-afflicted wimp, and being mistaken for a woman on top of that.
In the grand scheme of things, Vitwater is just juice. For all that effort, I start guzzling it. One, two, four, six gulps…
Bleh, I didn’t feel any better. I think I’ll buy them hydrogen and oxygen tanks and make millions. I’ll champion it. Then I’ll go all over the Interwebs looking for bloggers who have a problem with my overpriced water, post grammatically-inconsistent comments on their blogs, and make it my life’s mission to out them and make them famous.
Until then, I think I’ll stick with the water dispenser.