More than half of all millennials only have enough avocado toast to last one week
The sorry state of young people’s contingency plans
Shocking news from the Department of Commerce, Savings and Legerdemain revealed today that most young adults are living a “string of their pants”, “barely making it,” “toast to toast existence. One major unforeseen expense could leave them entirely without avocado toast, and they are worried.
“I don’t know what I would do without it,” says Leslie Youngblood, an entry-level employee at a tech start-up in Silicon Valley. “I mean, eating avocado, which is so soft and creamy, on top of toast, which is hard and crackly, makes me feel that everything is OK in the world.”
Unfortunately, Leslie has just received an unexpected bill for an electric bike which she stole from the city of Santa Cruz.
“I didn’t think they would be able to track it back to me,” she said, a tear falling down her cheek.
Slowly she cut up her last avocado and pressed down the toaster for her last piece of toast.
“It’s going to be Ramen noodles until the first of next month,” she sobbed.
Psychologists are concerned about the high degree of dependency that the young generation has developed for the treat.
“I’ve seen it on cafe menus for 18, 20, or as much as 24 dollars,” says Dr. Kolleen Kunderbottom, whose specialty is treating acute avocado toast withdrawal symptoms.
“The symptoms range from crying, raging, whimpering, shivering,” says Dr. Kunderbottom, when I snarkily inquire as to the withdrawal process. “When they don’t have access to avocado toast, they are naturally and justifiably traumatized, and we as older people should not scoff or make fun of them. I mean, we were young once. I remember when I was 22 and just starting out. Adulting is not easy. And it’s not funny to make fun of avocado toast. And especially to write blogs about it. Only a bitter old man who is lashing out at his own lost youth would waste his time writing such an article. Maybe you’d like to come see me and talk about it. I am on Blue Cross and Anthem. But I can bill Kaiser if that is your plan. If you have no insurance, it’s two hundred an hour.”
I hadn’t expected a lecture. I was just trying to write a blog after all.
“I take all major credit cards,” she added, handing me her business card.
No thank you, I said, and I shuffled off to the nearest cafe.
“Alright,” I said to myself. “Let’s see what this avocado toast is all about.”
I ordered myself up one. I sat in a cafe full of young people. I tried to be kind in my heart. It wasn’t easy.
“Yum,” I said, when I finally bit into the delightful repast.
“Thank you very much,” I said to the waiter, who was a young person just starting out in adulthood. “I really enjoyed that.”
If I were able to read the thought bubble above her head, I think it would have said, “Like I care?”
She turned and went back to her young person’s life. I looked around the cafe. All the young people had healthy heads of hair, beards and the latest expensive lap top. I had male pattern baldness and a crappy HP laptop I bought at Target. I felt alienated, angry and alone. And the avocado was starting to taste cloying. I took out the business card from my pocket and looked at it.
Maybe I really did need someone to talk to after all.