As a middle-class white chick, I wasn’t aware of my stereotypability until recently, when an older co-worker carelessly threw out the M-word. Curious about the term, I googled “Millenials” and embarked upon a two-hour journey of self-exploration. The verdict? Being a millennial is sweet. For some reason, it turns out those of us born between ‘81 and ‘93 have a free pass to act like an asshole on the job. Bad work ethic? Whoops – I’m a millennial. Showed up late every day this month? Millennial, again. So what if you found me printing out the nudie fliers for my best friend’s band’s show on the company printers? I am a millennial, yo. Calm the eff down. According to Google, I’m switching jobs in a few months. Also according to Google: you’re happy to deal with it. All of it. The discourse surrounding our generation is fantastic. Everything pretty much says that the world and the workplace need to adapt to suit our unique needs. From what I can gather, millennials need to sleep in late, wear casual clothing, and listen to iPods on the job. We want to be buddy-buddy with our bosses and, not only do we need their constant approval, we need a raise (or at least a gold star.)
Who needs hyper-involved parachute parents when you have national news media outlets like these: “The key to your organization's future success is understanding how the Millennials view the world and using that knowledge to motivate them in a way that works. Here's a hint: meet them where they are and they will achieve your underlying goals; try to force them to fit your definitions and they will run for the door every time.” No, that’s not some crazy kid’s craaaaazy blog. That’s printing-press-sanctioned, business-magazine truth. For some reason, “adults” have decided that “millennials” are a different breed of human beings, who need to be treated with a very particular style of care. I’m guessing that they do this because, deep down, they know that somehow they irreversibly fucked us up. But, just as I fully took advantage of the no-curfew rule that came along with my parents’ divorce, I’ll be sure to milk this one as well.
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