So, I’ve finally found it. The rare species of Gen Y employee is sparse within my company, and for the past twelve months I have meandered through this territory believing I was the single youngest person on my side of the jungle… the lone Millennial survivor amidst layoffs, cutbacks and the occasional sexual harassment suit just to keep it interesting.
But today, I found it. There is finally one younger than I… and apparently more where that came from. A survivor, no doubt. But a dumbass, nonetheless. As I sat through the two-hour meeting, calmly observing, I noticed the tendencies that are likely the catalyst to put the final nail in the coffin of my generation’s promotion-potential in a corporate world that is so very un-Gen Y, no matter how many corporate training programs are put in place to combat that theory. So below, my ode to my sweet, cuddly, ‘just wanna pinch your little spoiled cheeks’ Gen Y who make me look bad every damn day.
The simple fact is, we haven’t learned to fake it yet… fake intelligence, fake respect, fake listening, fake everything necessary to survive in corporate America, just as other survivors before us have learned and have succeeded because of… and frankly we don’t see the need because we are who we are – and adjusting to others is not what we do – that is what they do for us. Our parents taught us that fact by verbally abusing coaches, teachers and whomever else might hold back or discipline their precious future professional athlete or Harvard graduate, and we have yet to see that theory proven wrong in any capacity of our short lives.
We like to boldly proclaim our independence through the use of colorful Blackberry covers that shout “I couldn’t possibly do any serious business on this phone” and smiley faces, l8rs, & BFNs in emails… through our trendy style of work clothes that no longer need a day/night variation. They scream club, 24/7.
And nightlife is now not only part of the weekend, but also part of the week. So don’t you dare give us 2 much work on Friday – we are hung over, and our friends taking their 6th & 7th college victory laps on their parents’ dimes don’t have class on Fridays, so go F yourself.
We don’t seem 2 think that smacking gum during meetings is annoying or inappropriate… or that propping our feet up on a conference table is slightly disrespectful because, well, we want 2.
We believe that despite what salary.com says about the overpaid nature of our current positions that we are grossly undervalued and underpaid… and that the people before us who paid their dues for years and years are simply not nearly as talented as our pinky was at the mere age of 13. The waiting line for us is non-existent. Our parents showed us that. We deserve the world, and if we want it, we will have it, so fuck U if U tell us otherwise, because U are obviously a moron.
We believe we are entitled 2 a job we don’t just sorta like, but that entertains us nonstop – and if we become slightly disinterested with a position in a couple of months, we deserve to move on to the next, and the next, and the next and the next. But don’t U dare ask me if I have trouble committing 2 something… I didn’t like those jobs. They were stupid and the people managing me were stupid and U are stupid, stupid.
We believe that emails are the best possible form of communication because honestly, we are terrified to talk to you over the phone, and Holy Moses we will never approach U in person. Our people skills are at true shit levels, but we are incredible at confrontation and/or pissing U off via the written word.
We are certain we are geniuses in the gr8est nation in the world, and the old skool workforce that came b4 us is simply inept. Globalization is the key 2 the future, only second 2 us. But don’t U dare ask us if we speak more than one language because that would have required effort, and our parents taught us that effort is indeed unnecessary. Plus, what the hell? U move to America, U learn 2 speak our language or else I’m not doing biz with U b/c I don’t have 2, so there.
Lastly, we deserve. Deserve what, U might ask? U name it. Our parents taught us exactly how special we are and exactly how U other idiots in the world will try and bring us down, but we know the truth. We know U need us. We know we are a superior generation and the systems set in place b4 us that have made companies billions over the past 100 years are simply shit. The world is changing and we are on the cutting edge of, well, everything.
We know this may piss U off, which is fine. Whatev. But U just don’t get how hard we have worked 2 get where we R 2day. We actually had to get up in the morning and drive 2 class (in a car our parents paid for) at college (that our parents paid for) every once in awhile. And these days? Shit. We wake up B4 8am to get ready and go to work, which is ridic. You honestly have no idea what we go thru and what our gen has 2 put up w/… don’t even get us started on actually having 2 physically go pick up our adderall prescription at the doc’s office every month.
N E Wayz, if U have a problem with the harsh realities of the workforce these days & my generations’ future dominance, suck it. B/c guess what… U treat me badly or don’t give me the promotion I want? I’m telling my parents.
Enjoy getting fired & the prospect of a less-than-luxurious nursing home.
How ya like me now, geezer bitches? GEN Y RULZ!
Now, someone get me a match so I can see where that gas smell is coming from.
Flocking from new club opening to new club opening are the skinny jean knee-deep in debt CLS550 drivers, flaunting those ‘unique’ black rims, of course. Hopping out with beetches in tow, they float through the velvet rope, weed smoke & residue not far behind, and shake hands with the doorman whose weekly coke supply said driver likely dropped off that morning... and disappear into a sea of lights, smoke & bass. 
This weekend at Joyce was no different, and for anyone to describe it as ‘getting the cream from Suite’ would be setting some trusting reader up for a severe letdown. Emphasis on severe.
iers in this place are worth a second look – but that would be the only thing that is, other than , of course, the fake IDs of the rampant jail bait throughout this place on Saturday. This is basically the ‘classier’ version of a Walrus crowd, the owner’s former endeavor… and is also the nightlife representation of putting lipstick on a pig.
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