This is it. I am officially an older generation, with a title like this. I even recently got ticked off a mentorship programme because I was too old. I get out of the age bracket for blog post competitions because apparently only people who are 18 to 30 have the brains required to write blog posts. And yes, this is me being crabbity and whiney as befits my advanced years. Afterall, I have an age bracket to live up to. And it is senior citizen.
Therefore, as is suitable to me being in my dotage right now, I wish to make an official crib about them college kids that dot them malls, and public spaces, standing around like little sticks of pencils, or seeing the width of some, like coloured straws. In their gaggles. Will they make way for you to pass, especially when you are laden down with grocery bags? That would be no. Offering to help carry them grocery bags, is of course, not even a remote possibility. Not only will they stand near exits in little clumps of perfect uselessness, but they will also crack jokes and snigger when a bag escapes from your clutches, and spills its contents on the floor of the mall court. Will they offer to help you gather the items spilt? No again. Will they make themselves useful by shutting their constant twittering, screeching, backslapping and guffawing. Nay. Shall I take a gun to their heads? Aye.
You know. Am sure we have all bumped into this garden weed variety of the lumpen youth. I’m sure there is a machine somewhere churning out this version of the under 20s. Dressed identically. Chewing gum incessantly. Talking in volumes which would make the deaf plead for mercy. Peppering every sentence with a couple of obscenities and looking around to see how many have noticed their macho man speak. And smoking like chimneys even though there would be serious debate on whether facial hair has actually sprouted.
And they will push to get into lifts first, no matter that everyone else is standing in a line peaceably. They will tap their feet impatiently. They will elbow their way to counters. They will look at you scathingly if you dare suggest they wait their turn, and mutter insolent things under their breath. They make me feel like Jack Nicholson in that movie with Helen Hunt, where he generally hates the world and makes no bones about it. You know that one. I forget the name. Yes, I am that old that I forget names of movies and couldnt be bothered to google it up, to add value to a post. I’m officially now the slight demented old lady who snarls at them fine young fellas, rather than look on at them admiringly as befits a woman still in her prime. And I find nothing to look on admiringly too. Would someone please tell these children that long and reed thin is not attractive. Like making out with a string bean. Some amount of shoulder and muscle on torso is preferable. We older women are not salivating at the vision of them looking like snakes in black Ed Hardy ripoffs and jeans falling off their nonexistent waists.
They scare me in a way no horror movie does. I dread my six year old turning out like them or worse, ten years down the line. If this be cool, I think I’m better off being hot.
Gah. Who am I kidding. I just wonder where the Please, Sorry, Thank You, Wait Your Turn and Let a Lady Pass First went. Maybe, it went out with the husband’s generation. Because I sure as hell havent seen it around with the young men of today. And to me, and my generation, a polite chivalrous man is the ultimate seduction machine…