I meant to write this a week ago, but never quite got around to it. Maybe I got too distracted by my phone again, or maybe I was trying too hard to avoid eye contact with other humans and forgot.
Or, possibly, I just feel too entitled to write an online thinkpiece about my disdain for another generation like the hardworking, blue-collar journalists of yesteryear.
What I do know, though, is that there is not another age nor generation I would rather be than a 20-year old millennial, despite the not-at-all-condescending pledge I had to take to become the menially successful, personality-less pile of human garbage I have now become.
Although, it’s a shame I can’t show up to job interviews in a dirty t-shirt or name my firstborn “Uber” anymore.
The disdain with which anyone under the age of 30 now gets spoken about has grown to incredible, thrilling levels and, frankly, I love it. Not only have the real adults taken a genuine interest in helping the worst living generation fix its self-centered, literally awful ways, but they’ve done so while ensuring we’re in debt until we’re their age, while also making sure the planet they’re leaving behind for us is as damaged as possible.
But hey, at least I was never drafted. Instead, I just got stuck with the bill for a war more costly and ineffective than the last time millennial-aged students were drafted. Thanks, real adults. I’ll keep that in mind for when my kids adopt technologies I feel threatened by.
Among the many things I’ve gleaned from my parents, as well as helpful pledges meant to guide me through my disastrous twenties, is that under no circumstances should I value myself as more than a worker, nor should I ever actually like my job.
What I should be doing, however, is using my late twenties and early thirties to work my way up the corporate food-chain, unhappily and with no questions asked. Just like the real grown-ups.
Nothing is beneath me.
Hopefully this hasn’t gotten too snarky. Maybe I should have been spanked more as a child. After all, the best way to teach children values is to open-hand hit them on the ass.
You see, I simply can’t find the humorous value of a clickbaiting, unfunny column written by an out of touch writer, which also doubles as a prime example of why newspapers aren’t being read by millennials.
It’s alright, though. At least I didn’t have to write this in cursive.