My friends the Suburbanites.
This weekend my husband and I received an invitation to spend Thanks Giving Day dinner at the home of our friends Arjun and Monika Talwalkar. Thanks Giving is a huge American holiday that is traditionally celebrated by shoveling vast quantities of food into one’s system while in the company of close family members. As a foreigner I have no family in America and so I suppose most people might think that I am very lucky to have friends who love me enough to invite me over. And usually I would agree, but there is one big problem – Arjun and Monika live in Frrriking Morristown.
Morristown is a suburban settlement in the state of New Jersey. I refer to it as Frrriking Morristown because getting there is a frrriking pain in the arse. As a city dweller (New York City) I try to avoid travelling to the ‘burbs at all costs. In the past my husband and I have pulled every stunt to get out of the Talwalkar Thanks Giving or Christmas Eve feasts. We have been ‘sick’, away on ‘vacation’, had ‘other plans’ or simply avoided their phone calls. It’s not that we don’t love our suburban friends it’s that we want to love them within City limits.
You see travelling to the ‘burbs usually involves the use of one or two modes of public transportation, a taxi-ride and a short walk. Sometimes it involves renting a car. In Arjun’s case, because we have made him feel like we’ve done him a huge favor by coming all the way out to visit, it involves him having to drive all the way to the Newark train station to fetch us and then drop us back. Anyone else would have stopped being friends with us but Arjun is Canadian and so no amount of being rude about his surroundings will push him to telling us to go fuck ourselves.
Even though it is clear as day that Arjun and Monika could care less what we think of Frrriking Morristown my husband and I continue to try and get them to move closer to the city, hence every visit begins and ends with this exact conversation.
Arjun why do you guys live out here?
It’s so nice Radhika – look at all the trees.
But this commute is insane!
No it’s not – I do it every day.
Because a suburbanite has chosen to torture himself/herself with a mind numbing commute to and from work they assume that everyone else would enjoy doing the same.
I don’t understand how you do it – it takes fucking forever.
No it does not – it takes me 37 minutes to get in to the City.
Please note that anyone who lives in Suburbia is always real specific about time. My brother-in-law used to live in Dallas and on our first (and last) visit he told us that it took him 9 minutes to get to work, 12 minutes to get to his daughter’s school and 16 minutes to get to the gym. City dwellers tend to round things off – 10, 15, or 20 minute time intervals, but not the folks from the ‘burbs.
Are you certain it’s just 37 minutes? It feels a lot longer.
It’s 37 minutes once I’m on the train – but the drive is extra – obviously.
Another suburbanite trick. There is nothing ‘obvious’ about the drive being extra. As a city dweller when someone asks me how long it’s going to take to get from my apartment to mid-town I include walk time AND wait time for the subway/bus. I don’t willy-nilly exclude time consuming activities like a 40 minute drive!
OK forget the commute – why are you living here??!
Space for Milu.
Milu, a.k.a Milind, is their 3 year old, trouble-maker of a son who looks exactly like Calvin from ‘Calvin and Hobbes’. He is another story all-together. The boy has a mind of his own – a trait I deplore in children. He rarely listens to either one of his parents which would normally be a major impediment to my remaining friends with the family but I have managed to scare the living crap out of him on more than one occasion so he is fairly well-behaved around me. But I digress. The point is Milind is about 20 inches tall, 6” wide and 4” deep – I can’t imagine he needs that much space but this is the other thing with folks from the ‘burbs – they cite ‘space’ for their children as their primary reason for moving from civilization out to the boonies.
And we have Costco.
Costco is every suburbanite’s wet dream. It is where every product is family-size, half-price, two-for-one, or some variation thereof and possibly the only thing that I am slightly jealous of. Arjun and Monika are proud, card-carrying members. Costco and suburbia go together like tea and biscuits because you need plenty of space to store 60 rolls of toilet paper and 20 gallon crates of washing detergent.
All I want is for Arjun and Monika to admit defeat, tell me I have made a better lifestyle choice and immediately stop having dinner parties in their home. But that will never happen. So until then – if I wish to remain in Milind’s life as his cranky Kaki* – we will mostly lie about our availability but once a year drag ourselves out to Frrriking Morristown.
*Kaki – Marathi word for Aunt.
See??? somebody needs to explain to them……
Brilliant job Rads!!!!
Awesome post!!! Sooo funny!
Awesome post!! Soo funny!!
Amen!
My sister from India, when visiting me 6 years ago in my sunny West Village duplex: “why don’t you move to New Jersey and buy a nice 2 bedroom house instead of living in a box in this loud neighborhood?”
Me without skipping a beat: “because I’d kill myself and maybe you if you happened to be around”.
“And I’d miss my tranny hookers”
The question has not been asked since.