Today I walked into the office kitchenette to heat up my cup of Campbell’s Spicy Thai noodle soup. In walks a guy I’d interviewed before and avoided since then. At first, because he gave me the looks pedophiles give children on episodes of Law & Order. Then because his small chat was so utterly stupid it makes me want to pop my eyeballs out with my plastic fork. Today was the worst, because he did that thing where he tries to relate to my age.
Uncles and older cousins are allowed to do this at family get-togethers, because with family, the rules are shot since we’re all stuck with each other anyway. What I’m talking about is the kitchenette “conversation” that went like this:
Him: So you working here as student co-op?
Me: No, I got this job outside school. I’ll probably stay here until I graduate.
-More lame talk about my school program ensued-
Him: Me, yeah I’m going to the UK to do some writing.
Me: Fun. Are you looking forward to it?
Him: Well, it’s a pipe dream. Like I’d be smoking dope thinking how cool it’d be to live in London but now that it’s actually going to happen it kind of blows.
Me: (Focus intently on the microwave countdown clock)
Him: But I hope to go see some wicked punk rock music bands while I’m there. Oh wait, that’s from my generation not yours, heh heh.
Of note in this conversation is his use of the word, “Blows,” and his references to dope-smoking and punk rock music as cleverly described bridges to connect with my age. He is maybe early forties, balding and with a gut.
Now before you assume I’m being a snobby you-know-what, remember: Creepy pedophile-looking guy who works in a cubicle and organizes working groups and boards in his free time. (I know this because of my aforementioned interview with him for a story I’d worked on).
The point is he irked me because he tried using “young, hip” words and drug/music references he thought I’d latch onto. As if all young people are enthralled with pot-smoking and anarchy music. Lame, man.
On the other end of the spectrum, I must be fair. (Or so says my ingrained fixation with presenting a balanced story. Thanks, journalism school). There are also the twentysomethings who pretend they are forty years old. Also lame. They approach job interviews and professional get-togethers as networking opportunities where they shed their true identity for their superhero lame-wad stuck-up, no-fun forty-year-old persona. It’s a persona where suddenly the stock market is enthralling, the recent CIA boss decision is rattling and the only cool thing to wear is a stuffy polo shirt covered in wool sweater with old-man glasses.
What’s wrong with acting your age? Older people would love to get your perspective as a twentysomething, not to hear you pretend to be the people they’re surrounded by day in and day out. And forty-year-olds? I don’t want to be your excuse to reminisce about your high school days. I am not your living Pepsi commercial. I’d much more appreciate hearing the perspective that comes with an additional twenty years experience living than my own life. Save your yearbook flashbacks for your buddies. I do not relate. But props for trying to make some form of conversation in the kitchenette, creepy guy. Even that’s better than the quiet shufflers who pretend they’re invisible and never talk to anyone!