KNOW WORRIES #43 - The Generation Gap Yap

Growing up is a funny thing. Not “ha-ha” funny necessarily, more like “this milk tastes funny” funny or “can you pull over I feel funny” funny. You know, like Andy Kaufman funny. I’m just saying, it’s a funny thing to find yourself more knowledgeable than ever, and somehow also dumber than you ever imagined. To understand both so much, and at the same time, so little about the world around you. To work for a lifetime to be the towering sunflower of wisdom and grace you always thought you’d be, only to realize it takes more effort than you ever imagined just to be able to peek your head out over some crack in the sidewalk of life. It’s all very “does my car sound funny?” funny.

Life comes at you fast. One day you’re young and fun, then next thing you know you’re literally dreaming about clever storage solutions and wondering if those mini-totes you saw at Home Depot come in clear so it’s easier to see what’s inside without wasting a label. They do, by the way. They do. I’m just saying, getting older is a funny thing. And the funniest part of it all is watching bits of yourself slowly turn into your parents like an American werewolf in, well, America, I guess. Again, not ha-ha funny. More like “my left arm feels funny” funny.

For instance, when I was a kid, my mom used to drive herself crazy trying to keep the house clean. And now that I’m the adult in the room, I’m also driving my self crazy trying to keep the house clean. And you know what? I’m starting to think that cleaning up after me isn’t really all that enjoyable. Turns out she was really on to something. And not only do you start acting like them, you start understanding the crazy shit they used to say too. Well, you start understanding some of it. Because a lot of it deserves to stay on the cutting room floor of progress like all those early Disney films we don’t talk about anymore and Eddie Murphy’s stand-up specials.

Turns out, they were right about a lot of that stuff. Like when my mom would ask me to turn off my comfort show because I “need to eat to live,” or made me get up for school because I’m “legally required to go” and I’d give her the stink-face and she’d say, “If you keep making that face, it’s going to stay that way.” And she was right. It did stay that way. And now everybody asks me what’s wrong a hundred times a day because I have a permanent case of unpitted olives in my salad face. And I’m sure you’ve all heard, “When you pay the bills, you can leave the lights on all night long if you want.” And they were right about that too. Because I do pay the bills now. And I do still leave the lights on all night long. Because I can’t unsee Poltergeist at the tender age of eight years old, okay? Talk about paying for your trauma.

And when they said, “You don’t have to worry about that stuff until you get older,” they were not kidding. There is somuch to worry about now. All of the things all of the time. And honestly, if they had maybe let me worry about some of that when I was younger, I might not have been in such a rush to grow up. Now look at what’s become of all us Toys r Us kids. Paying $200 a pop for LEGO sets and then being too stressed to even put them together. Geoffrey would be so disappointed.

And every time we’d get upset, they’d be all, “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you something to cry about.” And then they up and destroyed the middle class forever. Really followed through on that one, actually. You have to respect it. And honestly, as much crying as I did as a child, that one’s probably on me. Trickle down, indeed.

But that’s just the way it goes, isn’t it? When you’re young, you don’t understand adults. And when you’re an adult, you don’t understand anything, and that includes everyone younger than you. I believe they call that a generation gap. It’s an established concept, but if I’m honest, I’ve never put much stock in the idea. Like yes, obviously different people from different eras are going to experience the world differently, but the way I’ve seen some people weaponize it always felt a bit reductive to me. To steal a phrase from this generation, it gives me the ick, and I’ve tried not to buy into it.

Now, maybe that’s because I’m right on the border of younger gen-x and elder millennial, so I’ve always lived a very generation-fluid existence. That’s right people, sometimes it’s just about what I’m in the mood for, and it’s not much deeper than that. Like yes, sometimes I’m ready to strap on my Doc Martens and acid wash the shit out of my jeans and rage about AI stealing my em dashes and semicolons. But the very next day, you might catch me sprinkling lol’s at the end of every text message like Johnny I’m-about-to-snappleseed, and singing High School Musical at the top of my lungs while I wait for my Mickey Mouse waffles to be done. All I’m saying is I’ve had to teach people older than me andpeople younger than me how to use a printer, and that’s its own special kind of hell.

I’ve been between generations my whole life, so I never really understood the whole us vs. them mentality. But I also don’t have kids, nor do I have to deal with them on a daily basis, so maybe I should check my privilege a bit here. Because the day I have to google what some child just called me in front of his friends so I can figure out how insulted I should feel is probably the day I check back into this argument swinging. But I digress. It never made sense to me. It just didn’t seem like a worthwhile conversation to have. And then my husband and I went to our local theme park last week. And as the Ferris wheel took us high above the crowds, I looked around and thought to myself, “Why the fuck is everybody’s hair like that?”

Like…every male between the ages of 12 and 20? All of them? Why do they all look like labradoodles? Why do they all look like alpacas on picture day? I’ve never seen such assimilation. Not even during the flannel epidemic of the 90s. Not even during the great affliction affliction of the mid 2000s. Not even frosted tips or the Rachael cut or whatever George Clooney was doing with his bangs while he was on ER. It was impressive, honestly. I can’t even get three of my friends to agree on where to eat let alone which haircut to get. I really didn’t know what to think about it. And then I heard myself say it for the very first time. “The hell is wrong with these kids?”

Now, I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t even mean to say it. And even as I did say it, I didn’t really have time to process it. But for the rest of that day, it was all I could see. The differences between us and them. They were all live-streaming everything all the time, and like, I think they were just doing it for each other? Which was weird because they were all physically there? They were all calling each other “chat” and drinking Prime like it was non-data center wastewater in the desert, and I even caught a herd of them playing hacky sack in crocs. Crocs, for God’s sake! And…and they weren’t even stoned! Posers. And don’t even get me started on all the Nirvana T-shirts, I bet you none of those kids could even name two of the pillars of enlightenment.

I mean, I was already in full old man yelling at clouds mode, and then…and then I heard it. Something I’ll never forget as long as I live. It was like the first time I heard Natalie Imbrugia’s Torn. Clear and crisp and wild, and it cut straight to my heart. We were in line behind a young woman who became very confused when one of the adults with her mentioned the time was “quarter after 2.” You see, she didn’t know what that meant. Then after it was explained to her, she laughed it off and said, “Oh, yeah, I don’t do cursive time.” And I’m pretty sure I’ll never not think about that for the rest of my life. Cursive time. Sorry, but if I have to live with that burden, so do you.

For the very first time, I felt like I didn’t understand an entire generation. And it felt funny. Like “does this chicken smell funny” funny. And not just because it made me feel genuinely old, but because it felt like my world mattered a little less. Like my piece of the pie was getting smaller, which is weird thing to be angry about, because let’s face it, it’s not even very good pie. So, why was I feeling this way? After all, this was no surprise. We’re all aware this world won’t be ours forever. Time marches on. Aunt Vivs get recast. Beloved cartoons get mediocre live-action reboots. Beckys on Roseanne get changed. Twice. It’s the way of things, so why was this such a shock to my system?

So, here’s the thing. I don’t know.

Or at least, I didn’t. Actually, I’m writing this conclusion about a week after what you’ve just read, because I legitimately didn’t know. I didn’t understand why I suddenly felt any type of way about any of those kids at all, and it bothered me in a very real way. And as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t just shake it off, because I was sure there was something there. Something that mattered. So I did what any good writer would do, and made a list of critically important things I’ve been putting off for ages now. And sure enough, as soon as some free time to actually do those things rolled around, my brain was like “no, no, here is something you need to write about immediately.” So…

As some of you know, I worked retail sales for a very long time. It seems like another life now, but I learned a lot of lessons during my time in those trenches. And lost a lot of good men and women. And if you’re wondering where my signature simmering disdain for the human race comes from, well, now you know. In any case, I was an assistant manager for a number of years, and eventually got rewarded/punished with a promotion to general manager. But there was just one catch…I had to move, because the only store that was available wasn’t local.

So, on my very last day before I left, I happened to be working the opening shift. And man, the place was a wreck. The floors were unvacuumed, the bathrooms weren’t cleaned. There was old coffee spilled under one of the counters, and even a cash drawer left in a register. And as anyone who’s ever worked retail will tell you, that is a mortal sin that should probably even get you fired, let alone written up. It was a real “Who the fuck closed last night?!” moment, and I was heated about it. Because this was the last thing I needed to deal with on my last day. So I marched into the office, and I said those words to my manger. “Who the fuck closed last night?!” And he looked me right in the face and said, “You did.” I don’t know what to tell you. Retail burnout’s a bitch like that.

That was supposed to be a good day for me, but it wasn’t. Instead, I spent the whole day feeling guilty and even a little angry. Why should they have to clean up my coffee? What was the point of working so hard for so long only to leave them with a bunch of unfilled receipt printers to remember me by? And it wasn’t really my fault, mind you. I mean it was, but I was under a lot of stress. I was moving stores. I was about to pack my whole life up and go live in a different state. And I could barely afford to do either of those things at the time. But that probably didn’t matter to the people working that opening shift. And it probably shouldn’t have either. Because their shift was sure to bring them enough bullshit to deal with…without them having to worry about mine on top of it.

Negative rizz, I know. Total NPC behavior. But I’m pretty sure that’s why my first real taste of a big generation gap made me feel such big feelings. I wasn’t angry that they seemed so different or that I didn’t understand them. I wasn’t even angry that I was being replaced. I was angry that the morning shift was here, and I’d left them a mess to clean up. That I’d left them cardboard to break down and trash to take out. And everybody knows how gross it is when that garbage juice leaks out of the bag and into the little holes in your crocs. Skibidi Ohio, indeed.

And despite that very well-drawn metaphor, I still don’t understand this new generation. And I probably never will. And I’m sure they don’t understand me either. I still see far more differences between us than I see similarities, but you know what? That doesn’t make me sad anymore. It doesn’t make me confused, and it doesn’t make me angry either. Except when I hear someone say, “cursive time,” that still makes me hulk out a little. Oh, and when they talk about the “old Lion King” and it’s just the regular Lion King. I don’t like that shit either.

The differences between us don’t even make me cringe anymore. They make me smile. Because maybe that’s the very best thing they could possibly be. Different from us. They make me smile, because isn’t that the point? For a new generation to come along and grow up into something else? Because for all of us apples that fell not so far from the tree, our orchard isn’t doing so great. So maybe it’s not about what’s wrong with them. Maybe it’s about what’s wrong with us. Lord knows the list is long enough. So maybe one day, maybe even while we’re still alive and kicking, things will be ha-ha funny again. And if it starts with the rest of us laughing at some haircuts, then so be it. Because it’s gotta start somewhere.