It's Friday morning. Payday. I was just checking my bank balance online and narrowing my eyes so I don't see the other transactions listed just below the direct deposit (i.e. security deposits, first and last month's rent, a second set of every frickin' kid accessory for the new apartment, THERAPY bills, etc.) As I'm sitting here poised to click on something that at least appears work related, these two hipster early twenty-something douchebags come swaggering in. A couple of cocky, overprivileged, undergroomed, tattooed, sockless, dumpster-diving, trust-fund a-holes wearing their sunglasses in a wine cellar, oh joy.
These six-figuring "earning" bastards are here to take pictures and "write copy" for the company's Facebook page and guess who gets to field their questions? That's right, ME! Here are some of the more brilliant gems:
Why don't you guys make beer and shit?
Which wine is the panty-dropper?
You play basketball bro?
Is every dude here, like, Mexican or whatever?
Ah, from the mouths of babes. I know I shouldn't "hate". I think my real hang up is my fear that I'm glimpsing a bleak future for my boys. When my grandfather was their age he was a dad fighting to keep his family alive during the Great Depression. When my father was their age he was working in military intelligence during the Vietnam War. When I was their age I was waiting tables. It seems like there's a steady decline from unimaginable sacrifice and integrity to....well, Social Media Specialists. How much lower can it go?
Who am I kidding? That's not my real hang up. Clearly my boys are destined for greatness.