Dear 25-38 year olds,
In the nicest way possible, I must ask… WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH US? Our generation is so temperamental and so easily offended. Really, though, many of us deserve to be called on our shit… all of it. And we need to just own it. We are fucking insane. Some of it is a good insane, but some of it just makes me cringe.
Now, anyone who knows me, knows I am in no place to judge-anyone. I’m the definition of a hot mess. But, it’s been a while since I went out and after the shit I heard last night, I can’t help but be disgusted by what our generation has stooped to. We really have zero sense, rationality, and consideration for others.
Yesterday was a long day. I had to wake up early to be at work for a training, then I went to a girlfriend’s house to decorate my graduation cap for my grad school graduation in two weeks. I realized how close my friend lived to a bar that I frequent and love. It had a been a while since I’d seen the staff I love so much, so I decided to stop by for a drink.. two max.
I got there pretty early–6pm. The crazies weren’t out to play yet. I love the banter the bar back and I share and the bartender provided some much needed eye candy, so I ended up staying a few hours. By 8 or 9pm, the crazies all started making their appearances. Somehow, at the bar I managed to get stuck smack in the middle of two girls on one side drinking wine flights and on my right two guys sharing a bottle of wine (later transitioning to dirty martinis). The shit I heard was unreal. I couldn’t make it up if I wanted to.
Let’s start with the ladies to my left. They were attractive enough, but in hoodies, making it clear they didn’t want anyone to hit on them or mess with them. As they sat down, the first thing out of one of their mouths was, “We need to perfectly angle and coordinate our snapchats to make the dude I’m screwing jealous. He ALWAYS checks my story.” Wait, I’m sorry, you need to perfectly coordinate your snapchats? Who the fuck are you, a video producer? And for a dude you’re screwing? Honey, get it together. In the famous words of that horrible movie, he’s probably “just not that into you.” I just want to throw out that about 30 minutes later, she looked at her friend and said, “Wait, he just text me… how do I sext from a bar?” Sext? From a bar? …Self worth? Boundaries? Where did all of these wonderful things go? Right out the window if you were born in between 1980 and 1992 apparently.
Now on to the gentleman to my right. What a fucking trip. As soon as they sat down, one looked at me, turned to his friend and said, “I ain’t buying no bitches any drinks tonight.” Thanks dude, but I am more than capable of buying my own drinks. But thank you for making that clear with your cheaply tailored suit and nastily slicked back hair. Is everyone else imagining the sleaze with me? A little while later, they began swapping bar war stories. Who they picked up where, how, and what they did once they left. It was at this point that the one closest to me turned toward me and said, “I know what you’re thinking, but I’m really not a scumbag.” …Dude, a little hint… if you have to say that, then you’re a fucking scumbag. You’re not fooling anyone. From there he proceeded to attempt starting a conversation with me. Thank goodness for my bartender in shining armor, who came to rescue me from this “non-scumbag.”
I saw and heard way more throughout the night, and I couldn’t help but think while driving home, “what the flying fuck is wrong with my generation?” Now, don’t get wrong, I am totally guilty of posting a picture or status or the like in hopes that someone will see it and see that I’m having fun without them. But after talking to my friend who is the bartender there and listening to the shit he hears, I couldn’t help but shake my head. What happened to the days of going to a bar with friends just to chill, enjoy the drinks, and have a good time. Why do we feel the need to glorify and exclaim every sexual conquest to anyone who will listen, whether they want to hear it or not. Newsflash: I don’t want to hear about how the girl you took home last week was a squirter. I don’t want to know the length, thickness, and aesthetics of you faux boyfriend’s penis. I want to sit at my favorite bar, with amazing staff, and enjoy my favorite whiskeys. Without being bombarded by your sleaziness.
Now, don’t take me for some kind of prude who thinks sex is a taboo topic. Yeah, right!
I love a good sex talk as much as the next girl. But there’s a time and place. A bottle of wine with my girlfriends either at a table or at my place. Or, over coffee and mimosas the morning after. Not at a intimate, classy bar where every patron is going to hear every sorted detail. Yes, I take pride in being pretty fuckin’ chill. I mean, I swear by the hashtag #chillestgirlalive, don’t I? But some people push it and need to get called on their shit. Get it together 20 and 30 something year olds. We’re a nasty generation. Many of us need to start respecting ourselves again. Where did we go wrong? When did we stop respecting boundaries? Bar goers and bar staff alike don’t wanna hear your shit. Wanna brag? Find an audience that gives a fuck. Until then, stop polluting my favorite bar with your bullshit and let me enjoy my Red Breast neat.