Tragedy In Suburbia

It’s 8 am, and I have to go to the grocery store because I’ve run out of coffee creamer.

God forbid I use regular milk.

It doesn’t contain the precise chemical composition required for me to get cancer on schedule with the rest of America.

There are other people shopping on a Saturday. 

I question their motives. Why are they seriously grocery shopping this early? What’s their agenda? Are they trying to get stuff before the crowd comes in on Saturday afternoon? I guess the early bird gets non-expired milk. 

But I wonder more about these particular characters in the store. This older couple looks as though they are comparing the prices of chicken breasts. I think about my backdoor neighbor who raises chickens. He dropped by yesterday because I was sitting outside on the deck. 

He was holding a chicken under his arm, very charming. He told me I looked great, which is neither here nor there; I’m not above flattery. Every time I sit outside, though, he materializes beside the fence with another deeply strange conversation. 

He told me he didn’t vote in the last election. I told him he has the privilege of being apolitical. I stared at the couple at the chicken counter; they looked like they were probably married for a long time, something about the way they eased into each other. 

It must be nice to have someone to go to the grocery store with at all hours of the morning. That’s what I’m really looking for, a companion to do stupid, boring things with me. So they are not as stupid and boring. 

I need an errand pal, really. Someone I can argue with about which cut of meat is the best. Someone to whom I can confess that I feel a little guilty about eating animals until my favorite dish is placed before me. I forget all about it when it is prepared with spice, butter, and all the good things.  

I really should pick up a full load of groceries because I promised myself I’d start cooking. Is that really going to happen this early, on a Saturday in suburbia? I sometimes wonder what really goes on in people’s homes in this upper-middle-class neighborhood that I live in. 

Is real life like it is on TV, where the husbands are emotionally unavailable, and the wives own expensive water bottles and quietly resent each other over lunch? I see a woman wearing glasses looking at the asparagus; she looks like someone who eats a lot of salads. 

I ideally would like to become someone who cooks meals from scratch and eats kale salads with homemade dressing.

But the reality is, I am the kind of person who gets take-out or boils some pasta and throws some store-bought sauce on it and calls it a home-cooked meal.

In the fantasy I have of who I really want to be, I eat a lot of vegetables and fruits, while I ignore the junk food aisle and never eat something that comes in a box. In reality, I buy elaborate frozen dinners. Indian. Chinese. Italian.

Entire cuisines designed to rotate slowly inside a microwave while I stare at the timer like it’s a life philosophy.

I recognize that a great amount of my life is spent waiting in front of the microwave. 


Not too close, obviously. The waves.

I stand in the aisle that has the coffee creamer and wonder what microwaves really are and what wifi really is. It’s like a vibration, and people think I’m crazy for believing that we are all vibrations. I feel like everyone has a vibe. 

Microwaves are waves. Wifi is waves. Thoughts are probably waves. Loneliness feels like a wave too.

The salad-eating lady has the vibe of an intellectual who really needs to let her hair down. The chicken guy has the vibe of someone who desperately wants to be understood but only knows how to talk about pinball machines and municipal politics.

I look around for some body wash. I actually have body wash, I just can’t get the pump thing to work, so I have to open the entire bottle, and it’s just a mess. Am I the only idiot who can’t sometimes get a pump on a soap bottle to work? These are not complicated mechanisms. 

I’m so angry about it, I’ve considered discussing it in therapy, but I don’t want to waste my brilliant therapist’s time.  

I go to get a pack of razors instead. Why are they in some kind of bulletproof case? Why are they treating razor blades like a controlled substance? Are people really stealing razors, and for what? Are they on a mission to stop suicide attempts by making people get permission before they slit their wrists?

I’ve been depressed, but I’ve never really made a plan to hurt my body. I’m afraid of pain. I think I’m afraid of death, too.

I think about fear for a second; the only thing I’m really scared of at this moment is that someone could walk in here and start blowing the place up with bullets. I’m not actually afraid this is going to happen, but I’m not, not afraid either.

This is what American life has come down to. It doesn’t really happen in other countries.   

I go to the register. The nice black cahier smiles at me. I smile at him more warmly than necessary. 

Listen, I’m fifty, if any man even looks in my direction with interest, I am going to take it as a win. Women often become invisible as they get older, and I know I am not immune to that. People do say I look young, but how long is that really going to last?

Look, I realize I will never be that young, hot thing I was a long, long time ago, but a girl can dream. I know I’m not a girl anymore, but sometimes I like to flirt with complete strangers because it feeds my ego. 

The ego I’m trying to get rid of. 

nina

A couple of friends and I started a podcast called 2 Curries and a Ranch. Listen here: https://2curriesandaranch.riverside.com/  or wherever you get your podcasts.

Imagine two loud, dramatic, hilarious Indian women explaining to a white man what it's like to grow up and live in America. Join us for laughter, deep thoughts, and witty banter about life, love and culture. We tell it like it is, with honest, bold and funny stories, discussions and arguments. We explore boundaries and challenge norms. Join us for a good talk.

We have a new episode coming out: We Lost Nina!

Join us as we navigate losing Nina in the middle of our podcast and then discuss some serious philosophical issues. Then we go back to some humorous chats about everything and nothing!