The Suburban You (11 page)

“Could you believe how shitty this car is driving?” he asks. You tell him that you have not really noticed. “Check this out,” he responds, as he nails it on this quaint, short, highest-income-per-capita in the U.S. street, where you have never seen anyone drive faster than twenty-five mph. The car sputters and hesitates badly. You admit that you notice the problem then and it is not good. “What is wrong?” you ask. Sean responds, “We hired some new security guard who wanted to save our $11-billion, 75-million-square-foot real-estate company a few bucks by buying regular-grade gasoline instead of premium grade. That is why this car is fucked up. Could you believe what that idiot has done? Would you ever do that to
your
car?”

At that point, your interest in this conversation picks up, and you ask, “Will the car always be fucked up, or will it go back to performing better once you put in the expensive gasoline?” You ask this question not because you care about the car you are in at that moment, but you know that the answer to this question will impact you and the German luxury car that you drive. Sean says, “I don't know.”

You are now at your house. That night after supper, you get in your car to go to the library with your son. You decide to swing by the gas station and fill your car up with the most expensive gasoline they have. That night, the ride from the gas station to the library is the smoothest, snappiest ride that you have had in any of your cars in the past fifteen years.

Go to a Restaurant with Your Family

It is Sunday evening, and this weekend, like most, was event-packed. There was a soccer game, ballet class, swimming lessons (with Annika), your son's football game, two playdates, a birthday party for your daughter to attend, and a Cub Scout activity. This afternoon, your wife asked if you felt like going out to dinner tonight.

Your wife makes gourmet meals just about every night of the week, and when she asks if you feel like going to a restaurant you tend to think that she is feeling tapped out and in need of a break. “Great idea,” you respond. “That sounds like fun.”

Your wife asks where you would like to go. Of course, she has already thought this through in her mind and knows exactly where she would like to go, but why miss out on an opportunity to arrive at a common solution together? She asks this question, hopeful that you will somehow stumble upon the same idea that she has, but, if you don't, she knows that she can effectively manipulate your thinking to align it with hers, making it seem like somehow the restaurant that you end up at was your idea when it fact you had nothing to do with the selection.

“Bruno's,” you respond, naming one of your favorite family restaurants, a lively nearby place that has terrific pasta, which is your favorite food. You have been there only twice, both times when your wife has been out on “girls' night.” Your wife looks at you as though you have just recommended going to the lunch counter at Target for dinner. “Bruno's,” she says. “I am tired of Bruno's. You always want to go there. Where else?” she asks. “What about the Mexican Café?” you suggest. “No,” she says. “I don't feel like Mexican.” You now start to understand that you are really playing a game of twenty questions, and that, unless you stumble upon the one restaurant that your wife has already selected for you, you will have to continue suggesting restaurants until you stumble across it. Alternatively, it may be a game of process of elimination, whereby your wife's strategy is to eliminate any option that you introduce, leaving only one logical alternative, the place where she wants to go. You say to your wife, “You know, honey, I really don't care where we go. Where would
you
like to go?”

Having already addressed this issue in her own mind, your wife responds to your inquiry instantly. In a nanosecond she says, “Let's go to
Ho Sing
.” She says this loud enough for the kids to hear so that they get excited about the prospect of eating with chopsticks and eating food that they like. She deploys this strategy because she knows that the last place that you would ever suggest would be a Chinese restaurant. Over the past nineteen years that you have known each other, you have never once introduced the idea of going to a Chinese restaurant, nor, over that same period of time, have you ever responded favorably to anyone's recommendation to go to a Chinese restaurant. There is nothing that you really find appealing about this type of food, and you have never really understood all the to-do around it. You think that it is gooey and greasy and you have never really stumbled upon a favorite dish. The only aspect of Chinese food that you find at all redeeming is that you can order the food simply by calling out a number.

At this point, it is three to one and you and your wife know that if you reject this idea of going Chinese, as they say, you will be the most unpopular dad in your suburb. You look at your wife and she knows that she has you. “That sounds great,” you reply untruthfully. “I really feel like Chinese tonight. What a terrific idea.”

It is 5
P
.
M
., an hour before your usual dinnertime, but for some reason your wife believes that the kids are famished. “Let's go immediately,” she says. “Everyone get your shoes on. We are going now.” The restaurant is a five-minute drive away, yet on the way out of the house your wife believes your kids to be so hungry—she always believes they are hungry—that she gives them a snack of licorice. “Honey,” you say, “why would you give them a snack now? We'll be at the restaurant in five minutes. They could wait.” “They are hungry,” she says.

Just as your kids are finishing their snack, you arrive at the restaurant and park the SUV. En route, you drive by two cars, one after another, and you notice, out of the corner of your eye, that both drivers scowl at you. By not making eye contact with them, you do not give them the satisfaction of knowing that they think you are being an asshole.

You walk into the restaurant and are seated. Unlike in the restaurants that you prefer most, there will be no bread and olive oil served before dinner tonight. You sit down in a booth, but, according to your wife, you have selected the wrong seat. “You better sit on the inside,” she says to you, “so Blake can get out and go to the bathroom if he needs to.” You know that your wife knows that your son is fully capable of asking you to move in the event that he has to go to the bathroom and that you can quite capably get out of his way if such an event arises, but you do not bother to initiate this discussion with your wife. You simply switch seats with your son, because that is the alternative that will put you on the path of least resistance. (He, too, knows that the alternative to relocating his seat is not worth the effort.) Your wife nervously looks around for the waiter, who arrives and asks if you would like something to drink. She responds, “I am famished and our kids are, too. We need food now.” The waiter, understanding that the flow for this meal will be different than the flow for any other meals that he will serve that night, and most other nights, for that matter, responds as he should. “Would you like to order?” Well, you have just sat down, and with this cue you pick up your menu. It has items numbered from 1 to 128, and then some others that are not numbered. It is somewhat overwhelming to you, until you remember that to you most of this food tastes the same and most of it has that same gooey texture. You do not become that invested in the menu.

Your wife looks to you and asks if you are ready to order. Not really, you think, but you know better. That is your cue to give your wife more time to make her selections. You raise up your index finger to the waiter, indicating “One minute, please,” hoping that you did not just flip him off in Chinese. You look more closely at the menu and still have difficulty distinguishing one dish from another and then order No. 14, because the combined age of your kids is fourteen. You ask for a Chinese beer to drink as well.

While you were going through this with the waiter, your wife has been conferring with your kids and seems to have narrowed down her choices. Surprisingly, each of your kids has a strong preference. You ask if they will order, and they do. First, your son says to the waiter, “Could I please have egg rolls and fried rice?” and your daughter asks for fried rice, please. They make you proud that they do this so politely.

Your wife is up, and, if tradition holds, there will be a rather lengthy and involved discussion with the waiter about the various options. She asks for the waiter's dinner recommendations and advice because, though she doesn't consider you to be an expert in office furniture, she sees the waiter as the source and authority of the highest-quality, most unbiased information, rather than how you see him, as a man trying to up the bill and increase his tip potential as best he can.

There is discussion about fish and cashew chicken, various types of spring rolls, and sauces with which you are unfamiliar. Finally, your wife asks the waiter what fish dish he would recommend. “Number thirty-eight,” he says automatically. Your wife refers to her menu and it looks good to her. You glance at the menu that your waiter has not yet taken from you and notice that, of all 128 items on this menu, No. 38 wins in the most expensive category, by a good 30 percent. “Perfect,” your wife says. “That looks really delicious.”

The waiter takes the menus from all of you, and your wife adds, “The kids are starving. Could you please bring anything out that is ready for them as soon as possible?” In time, less than you anticipated, three people emerge from a double swinging door, which you assume is the dividing line between the kitchen and dining room. They have plates of food in hand, which you think may belong to your family. The food is yours, and 75 percent of your four-person family is very excited. There are special chopsticks, bound at the top with rubber bands and paper so that the kids can control them. They love the experience of eating with this infrequently used utensil. Your wife believes that she has ordered the best item on the menu, because it has been endorsed by your waiter. By its price, you agree. You, however, have struck out again. Your plate, containing menu item No. 14, is saturated with a brown, viscous, translucent, Valvoline-like substance that is covering what you guess to be vegetables, chicken, and sticky white rice.

To be part of the family experience, you eat a little, but mostly you enjoy everyone else enjoying themselves. The question that you have always had about this food, wondering what people see in it, remains. You pick through your food but mostly leave it alone. Your Chinese beer, you come to accept, will be the highlight of this meal for you.

Your family finishes their food and everyone is ready to go. Your wife, eager to leave, flags down the waiter and asks for the check. You take it and begin reaching for your money. Your wife asks you to leave a tip, which is a good thing, because this is the first time in your life that you have ever eaten at a restaurant and paid, so you are not familiar with the custom of leaving a tip.

You return home, and just as you pull into the garage the Golobs' garage door opens. You rush your family into the house. As a family unit, you are 75 percent satisfied with that dinner. You enter the kitchen, get out a pot, put some water in it, bring it to a boil, and cook some spaghetti noodles. You cook them just right, pour some sauce on them, and sit down to eat a real meal.

Select a Video with Your Wife

Your kids are asleep and it is 8:30
P
.
M
. It is a perfect evening to stay at home and rent a video or DVD. One day about nine months ago, you noticed when you went into Blockbuster that 90 percent of the selections were DVDs, not videos, which you had been accustomed to renting. The time before that when you went into this store, it seemed like their selection was better suited to your hardware capabilities, in that videos accounted for 90 percent of the selections. You get the hint. You are a man with flow and you go out and buy two DVD players for the TVs in your house where you do your movie watching.

That night, you and your wife think that it would be fun to rent one or the other. It doesn't matter now, because your family is current with its equipment. You are a home-movie switch-hitter. You look at the pile of dirty dishes on the kitchen table and say to your wife, “Honey, I don't want to trouble you with going to the video store on this cold evening. I will go out.”

She goes to one of her pads of paper and jots down the title of a video that her friend Robin told her about that morning. As she hands you a small folded slip of paper with her movie selection, she says, “Why don't you get this; Robin recommended it, and she always recommends something that
you
enjoy.” What your wife just told you is that this will be some sentimental love story in which someone is dying of cancer. Your wife will cry and be sad throughout the movie and you will be wishing that you were upstairs doing something more enjoyable with your time, like trying to figure out why your stock portfolio dropped by 30 percent over the past year. She hands you the folded scrap of paper, which you slip into your pocket while looking for your shoes, which your wife has relocated since you took them off a half hour ago.

“Great, honey,” you say, trying to get out of there as soon as possible, before your wife changes her mind and wants to go, leaving you with the dishes. “Could you pick up a gallon of two percent milk?” your wife requests as you leave the house.

You are thinking that you would like to see
Day of the Jackal
, but you know that this is not a movie that Robin would recommend, therefore it will not be a movie that makes your wife's list of must-sees.

You arrive at Blockbuster. One thing that you enjoy is walking around the store and looking at every title and reading the description of every movie. After doing this, you like to select what you think is the best one. Usually, after spending forty-five minutes selecting the perfect movie, you get home and one of three things occurs. One is that the movie that you took too much time selecting is one that your wife does not want to see. Alternatively, you have selected a movie that, when you start viewing it, you both realize that you have seen before. The third possibility is that you have taken so long to select a movie that when you get home your wife has initiated another activity and she no longer wants to watch a movie, so you end up watching some chick flick like
Terms of Endearment
, which you have selected with your wife's interests in mind, on your own.