Elder abuse is a serious, often unrecognized crisis affecting some of our most vulnerable citizens. Me, in particular. Don’t believe me? Well, just head on down to the mall and get a load of these Gen Zers absolutely roasting my “Nimrod” t-shirt.
It started at the food court while I was enjoying my prune bubble tea, when I realized the only open table was right next to a group of rowdy 15-year-olds. Summoning all my courage, I took the open seat and started to eat. Unfortunately, the teens didn’t take long to start whispering and laughing. Pretending to look at my phone but secretly eavesdropping, all I could make out was something about “Fall Out Boy’s dad” before they absolutely lost their shit laughing at me.
I’m not going to lie; that stung. It was extremely dismissive of Green Day’s vital contribution to pop-punk. I was planning to ignore it until one of them got up and walked over to me, asking me if he could “see my John Kerry tattoos” and saying he wanted to interview me for a history project about Woodstock 1999.
This elder abuse cannot stand. I made a beeline for the mall bathroom, where I’m currently cowering in a handicap stall. I know those damn Gen Zers are still waiting for me outside. They’ve popped their heads in a few times trying to lure me out by loudly claiming that “Basket Case” is Avril Lavigne’s best song, but with age comes wisdom so I didn’t take the bait.
I’ll be honest, I didn’t have a lot of respect for my elders growing up. In fact, I vividly remember being 15 and ripping pretty hard on older guys I saw wearing Guns N’ Roses shirts. Whatever, those washed-up posers had it coming. They’re nothing like me: an aging but still rebellious punk who drove his Honda Fit to the mall to pick up some comfortable socks.
So, if you’d like to address elder abuse firsthand, get your ass to the mall and help me escape from these Gen Z jerks before they follow me to my car and see my Weezer bumper sticker.