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RUSTEDFOX RANTS: “OK, BOOMER!”
Look, I’m pretty critical with the millennial crowd. For so many reasons; both good and bad.
No, you don’t need a “participation award” for everything.
Yes, you need to choose a college major that will pay off your loans. Duhh. No, “comparative literature” isn’t going to pay the bills. Neither is “theatre”. Maybe “marketing”. Maybe.
But the one thing that the millennials are getting right is their battle-cry of “OK, BOOMER”.
I live and work in the United States Capital of Old People…
Florida.
Yeah, I kind of hate it these days.
Sure, when I moved down here it was all cool… “Beaches! No ice and snow! Spring training! Whooo!”
Now, I can’t wait to get out of this place, which is basically a playpen for senior citizens who can’t remember if they did or didn’t take their meds. If you look like you’re under 50 around these parts, the local snowbirds and retirees WILL treat you like you are “staff”. This is especially bad if the senior involved is from NY/NJ or Boston.
This actually happened to me three days ago.
-----
I walk into my local gas-station convenience store. I grab a coconut water, a Gatorade (light blue; the best flavor), and a Coors Light. I turn around from RefrigeratorRow and see that there are two cashiers, doing their cashier-thing. The line on the left has five people in it. The line on the right has one person in it, ostensibly having just opened to accommodate the traffic. I walk forward three steps, making myself the “second person” in that line. I kept my sunglasses on. I’m a touch hungover. Hangover score = 3/10. Pain behind the eyes, unpleasant taste in mouth when swallowing. No nausea, no headache. Gonna crack that Coors Light when I get home. After all; its three o’clock or so… we’re cool, we’re cool. Last night was mad fun.
OldMan Fatpants is in fourth position in the other line. He spies me cool-ly taking second position in the other line. Everyone is cool. Except him.
“ -- ‘EY! KID! We’re LINING UP back HERE!”
You know, if I weren’t just a little still juiced from the night prior, this whole thing could have gone so differently. I ignored him at first, hoping that he could see that there was a functioning cashier in front of me, and that his objections would be obviated.
“ --- ‘EY! KID!”
“Yeah; I see you. I heard you. Do you see that there are TWO lines here? Being served by TWO cashiers?”
“Nahhh, we been linin’ up like’dis before you got here.”
“OH. Okay. Let me just ignore the fact that these good folks have opened up a second line of service to expedite our needs!” (I actually said this).
FATBOOMER looks at me, confusedly. “Welp; you should wait in line like the rest of us.”
“Yes. There are now TWO lines. There’s even markers on the ground to indicate that another line should form here. Go ahead, take my spot.” *I gesture in front of me in a manner as which to say: Go Ahead of Me.
BOOMER: “Nahhh. You’re just an @sshole, kid.”
Yep. That was it. I was going to eviscerate this Long Island Lardass.
I said it:
“OK, BOOMER!” – “I can tell that you have critically important places to go..”
He interrupts: “I do; that’s why I sai-“
I interrupted him: “Really? With your five un-ran lottery tickets in your hand? Yep; its clear that you have CRITICAL places to go; that’s why you’re standing in line for the lottery now.”
To his credit, he seemed to acknowledge for a hot second that I had broken his argument, and looked at the lottery tickets in his hand.
“Yeah; take a look! I’m sure that you’ve got donuts to eat and insulin to take, and then more donuts to eat.”
He got a little more hostile after that.
“HEY kid, why don’t you come over here and say that to me?”
“Sure, but I’m already in line over here. You could be, too – but you decided that it was more important for you to huff and puff than accept my invitation. CONGRATULATIONS! You’re what’s wrong with America!”
The cashier took my beverages with a chuckle. I walked out, directly past “FatBoomer1955”.
He wanted to say something ignorant to me, but I interrupted his first syllable with “Enjoy heart disease, BOOMER.”
BOOMER followed me out into the parking lot, thereby forfeiting his coveted place in line. He threatened me with an “ass-kicking”, to which I replied: “Sure! Sounds good! Please, commit a violent crime where there are a dozen cameras recording your actions RIGHT NOW!”
He opened-and-closed his mouth a few times like a fat fish. I just shook my head at him and got into my car. I don’t know if he took “his” place back in-line, but I didn’t care.
OK BOOMER.
OK BOOMER.
OK BOOMER.
Look, I’m pretty critical with the millennial crowd. For so many reasons; both good and bad.
No, you don’t need a “participation award” for everything.
Yes, you need to choose a college major that will pay off your loans. Duhh. No, “comparative literature” isn’t going to pay the bills. Neither is “theatre”. Maybe “marketing”. Maybe.
But the one thing that the millennials are getting right is their battle-cry of “OK, BOOMER”.
I live and work in the United States Capital of Old People…
Florida.
Yeah, I kind of hate it these days.
Sure, when I moved down here it was all cool… “Beaches! No ice and snow! Spring training! Whooo!”
Now, I can’t wait to get out of this place, which is basically a playpen for senior citizens who can’t remember if they did or didn’t take their meds. If you look like you’re under 50 around these parts, the local snowbirds and retirees WILL treat you like you are “staff”. This is especially bad if the senior involved is from NY/NJ or Boston.
This actually happened to me three days ago.
-----
I walk into my local gas-station convenience store. I grab a coconut water, a Gatorade (light blue; the best flavor), and a Coors Light. I turn around from RefrigeratorRow and see that there are two cashiers, doing their cashier-thing. The line on the left has five people in it. The line on the right has one person in it, ostensibly having just opened to accommodate the traffic. I walk forward three steps, making myself the “second person” in that line. I kept my sunglasses on. I’m a touch hungover. Hangover score = 3/10. Pain behind the eyes, unpleasant taste in mouth when swallowing. No nausea, no headache. Gonna crack that Coors Light when I get home. After all; its three o’clock or so… we’re cool, we’re cool. Last night was mad fun.
OldMan Fatpants is in fourth position in the other line. He spies me cool-ly taking second position in the other line. Everyone is cool. Except him.
“ -- ‘EY! KID! We’re LINING UP back HERE!”
You know, if I weren’t just a little still juiced from the night prior, this whole thing could have gone so differently. I ignored him at first, hoping that he could see that there was a functioning cashier in front of me, and that his objections would be obviated.
“ --- ‘EY! KID!”
“Yeah; I see you. I heard you. Do you see that there are TWO lines here? Being served by TWO cashiers?”
“Nahhh, we been linin’ up like’dis before you got here.”
“OH. Okay. Let me just ignore the fact that these good folks have opened up a second line of service to expedite our needs!” (I actually said this).
FATBOOMER looks at me, confusedly. “Welp; you should wait in line like the rest of us.”
“Yes. There are now TWO lines. There’s even markers on the ground to indicate that another line should form here. Go ahead, take my spot.” *I gesture in front of me in a manner as which to say: Go Ahead of Me.
BOOMER: “Nahhh. You’re just an @sshole, kid.”
Yep. That was it. I was going to eviscerate this Long Island Lardass.
I said it:
“OK, BOOMER!” – “I can tell that you have critically important places to go..”
He interrupts: “I do; that’s why I sai-“
I interrupted him: “Really? With your five un-ran lottery tickets in your hand? Yep; its clear that you have CRITICAL places to go; that’s why you’re standing in line for the lottery now.”
To his credit, he seemed to acknowledge for a hot second that I had broken his argument, and looked at the lottery tickets in his hand.
“Yeah; take a look! I’m sure that you’ve got donuts to eat and insulin to take, and then more donuts to eat.”
He got a little more hostile after that.
“HEY kid, why don’t you come over here and say that to me?”
“Sure, but I’m already in line over here. You could be, too – but you decided that it was more important for you to huff and puff than accept my invitation. CONGRATULATIONS! You’re what’s wrong with America!”
The cashier took my beverages with a chuckle. I walked out, directly past “FatBoomer1955”.
He wanted to say something ignorant to me, but I interrupted his first syllable with “Enjoy heart disease, BOOMER.”
BOOMER followed me out into the parking lot, thereby forfeiting his coveted place in line. He threatened me with an “ass-kicking”, to which I replied: “Sure! Sounds good! Please, commit a violent crime where there are a dozen cameras recording your actions RIGHT NOW!”
He opened-and-closed his mouth a few times like a fat fish. I just shook my head at him and got into my car. I don’t know if he took “his” place back in-line, but I didn’t care.
OK BOOMER.
OK BOOMER.
OK BOOMER.
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