I am consumed by a burning question. Am I a Yuppie?
After getting the kids to school, I went to Starbucks to get some writing done. When I'm at home, I waste time on the blogs, so it's best to get out. I usually work at Starbucks until 10:00 when the public library opens.
I walk into the coffee shop. The guy behind the counter already has my coffee ready. I'm a regular.
I pull my laptop out of my new, super cool laptop bag with a cross strap. Previously, I had been wrapping my laptop in a plastic bag and sweatshirt, so I'm feeling very fancy indeed.
After working for an hour, I went to the gym to sign up for their winter special. The membership director gave me a tour of the facilities. There were rows of treadmills and bikes and other mysterious things each with their own TV screens. People work out in front of large windows, so that the passing drivers can admire their abs. Upstairs, there was a kicking exercise class going on and weight stuff. They had 7 different varieties of yoga. And daycare, too. Very impressive.
Only a few years ago, we belonged to Frank's gym on Broadway around the corner from the Coliseum theater on 181st Street. Frank's gym catered to Dominican weight lifters. There was a sign on the door that said "No Dogs. No Guns." In one room, there were the weights, and the other room had two treadmills and two bikes. Frank, who was a sweet guy, sold weight supplements and steroids behind the counter. There were a couple of TV anchored to the wall that played Telemundo all day.
Today, the membership director smirked at my fitness ignorance. I didn't know what an elliptical machine was. Never taken an exercise class before. I asked dumb questions about yoga. She thought I was a gym rube.
Since there was no sign at this new gym, I assume I can take my gun inside.
Between the fancy gym, my fancy coffee, my fancy laptop case, I am feeling very spoiled. In no time at all, I will have a designer handbag and lip gloss. This seems very close to Yuppie to me.
Steve says that I'm not a Yuppie, because I'm not young, not urban, and technically not employed. After kicking him in the ass, I had to admit that he was correct. I'm suburban, middle aged, and have indeterminate employment status. I'm a SMIES. Correction, I'm a SMIES SCAB (still cute as a button).
I guess all this Yuppie angst is coming out of survivor guilt. I'm not sure where to draw the line between necessity and conspicuous consumption. Where do you cross over that line into grossness?