Suburbia

When the hubs and I first moved to the 'burbs, it was a bang-for-your-buck situation.  SPACE.  We knew that outside of the city, space would be granted upon us (and without the million dollar price tag that hangs on most houses in our old neighborhood).  What we didn't know was the other, let's call them differences, the 'burbs would be offering. 

I'll start with the doorbell.  But, let me back up briefly to life at the city condo.  There is no doorbell.  Anytime someone knocks at the door, they are selling something.  When you hear a knock, it's your goal to immediately turn the TV on mute, hold your breath, and wait until whoever it is ruining your afternoon to kindly walk left or right to the next condo, and leave you in peace. Don't even think about glancing through the peep hole to see who it may be.  They'll see your shadow.  Oh yes, they are onto you.  You might as well open the door, grab the China Dragon menu (the guy is about to it shove in your door anyway), and immediately place your order.  See, the mute, play dead, and wait system is much more efficient. 

Fast forward, back to suburbia doorbell.  The first weekend we were in our new home, amid moving in boxes, unpacking, barking orders at each other, we hear the doorbell ring.  It startled us both.  Really startled us.  We gave each other those "what the?" looks.  Immediately, the mute, play dead, and wait system goes into effect.  But we then realize, we're in suburbia.  It could be an actual person.  But our defenses were up, it's probably China Dragon, they found us. 

Against all city instincts, we opened the door.  There they were, our smiling friendly neighbors and harmless children.  With fresh baked pumpkin bread.  It was still hot.  I thought to myself  'holy cow, is this what a neighborhood is?'.  I shoved my city instincts down a bit further.. I actually liked this.  A few days later, another ring at the doorbell.  This time the HOA President, with biscuits.  So you see,  in the city, a knock at the door usually means a menu and a plea to buy a meal.  In suburbia, it's the actual food.  Point suburbia.

Next difference- noise.  In the city, it wasn't a Friday night without overhearing a party.  Throwing pillows over our head as we try to sleep, in desperate attempts to drown out the neighbor's efforts to pump, pump the jam (or were they trying to get that boom, boom, boom? I digress).  Months later and 16 miles north, we find ourselves hearing a boom, boom, boom of a different kind.  Instead of our usual retreat for earplugs, this one intrigued us.  We made like the-night-before-Christmas and arose to see just what was all that clatter? Opening the door to press our ears to the sound, we looked at each other with wide grins.  The distant sound of drums.  A high school football game and the marching band.  Boom, boom, boom.  Point suburbia.

Then there's the grocery store.  At our old store, employees were for the most part on the upside of 40, and usually foreign.  Clientele present after 8pm was definitely buying beer, and maybe Pringles and a Tony's pizza.  Our first trip to suburbia's store was after 8pm.  We were starving and on a mission for something devour-ready.  As we're making our way through the aisles, there's something odd.  Middle aged men, everywhere.  Grabbing a gallon of milk here, a stack of butter there.  It was obvious.  The after 8pm clientele in suburbia is married men sent out to buy something wife had forgotten.  And the employees.  Who were these mutant young looking people?  Where was the staff we were accustomed to? Upon further inspection, we realized who it was.  High schoolers. And speaking English.  How could I have forgotten? This was the usual demographic to fill this job in suburbia. 

That goes for the pizza delivery guys, too.  All of them.  High schoolers.

Suburbia.  16 miles north of our city condo, but what feels like 16 worlds apart.   We're all moved in, and we're here to stay.