Confessions of a Gen Y

There comes a time in every Gen Y’s life when the universe delivers a well-deserved, gift-wrapped slap to their smugness. Let’s be frank, these aren’t one-off events, these are necessary course-corrections. Like the recession we had to have or the election we had to live through, they are the discomforting moments that remind my generation that we are indeed mere mortals. Some of us go to rehab and some of us wake up with a facial tattoo. Some wash out of reality television and discover no one can differentiate us from the last 3 blondes that could sing and cook at the same time. Some of us are clever enough to have a blog, and stupid enough to think people won’t come across it.

Guess which one I am.

It could have been worse. I could be that girl who made up a superbly private power point presentation of all her sexual exploits only to have it go viral (yes, ‘viral’, I haven’t had to show this much punning self restraint since a friend who lives in both Australia and Germany referred to herself as ‘dual-rooted’).

There’s nothing more clichéd that a Gen Y getting caught out by the fact that they’ve lost the ability to differentiate between the private, the public and the social network. Is there a switch that gets flicked in us that turns off our ability to stop sharing minute, superfluous details with the world? I am writing this online, so I suppose the answer is yes. I almost feel like I should start a Facebook group for fellow over-sharers (I assume that like riding a segway, starting a Facebook group is something that can only be done ironically).

You know what else is clichéd? Gen Y types bitching about work online. I thought I’d try something a little different.

The Top 3 Reasons My Workplace Rocks Are…

3. Cheesecake Day. A day dedicated to eating cheesecakes. Work was also done this day, in between the consumption of cheesecakes.

2. The field trip to a Gold Class cinema in the middle of business hours (ignore the fact that it was to see the utterly pointless, effortlessly boring Eat Pray Love – oh woe is me, I’m middle class and white, suffering through the indignity of living in one of the most glorified cities in the world, pity me as I travel and narrate my convenient life lessons!)

1. The Boss who didn’t lose her shit, and was indeed rather cool in general, upon discovering I have a blog… in which I may or may not have described her (vaguely).

In my defense I am a horrible judge of first impressions. I am also a horrible giver of first impressions. Knowing both of these things, Communications really does seem like an odd career choice. A few key lessons – word choice is everything, 1st impressions should never be recorded, cheesecakes are forever.


Painefull Out

P.S. I was saving these up and have no where to put them…

How many Chilean miners does it take to change a light bulb? They don't care - they’ve got sunglasses on, they can’t see shit anyway.

Name two global events which provoke religious fervor, but which Australians don’t fully understand or care about, unless there’s a chance an Aussie might win something? The World Cup and Canonization.

Gen Y & Proud

When did people my age become society’s generational piñata? When did people stop calling each other ‘dickheads’ and start calling each other ‘Gen Y’, as if the phrase holds equal venom?


When people use the words ‘Baby Boomers’ it evokes cooing affection, as if to say “Oh, aren’t they sweet with their cardigans, and their worldly advice, and their delayed retirement.” When people refer to ‘Generation X’ they’re overcome with visions of edgy cool, as if Winona Ryder invented disinterested chain smoking and that became their inheritance (they seem to be the last group of people in the world that doesn’t have to justify their nicotine addiction).

But ‘Gen Y’ is somehow shorthand for the person at your office that you can’t stand, the girl on the train holding a blackberry and an iPhone, and the barman who recently quit uni and is still living with his parents. It’s like we’re the go-to villains for daily living – if life was a movie we would be the Nazis.

For some reason it didn’t bother me when my siblings replied to any momentary indecision on my part with, “You’re so Gen Y.” But then my parents picked up the habit. Then I heard a couple of 40-year-olds mutter it when a boy skate boarded past and got in their way. For one thing, the boy was under 10, so I think the Twin Set Posse doesn’t actually know what Gen Y is. For another thing, you know who else is not Gen Y. Mel Gibson, Tiger Woods and the former Mr Sandra Bullock. So, just to be clear, being Gen Y doesn’t actually mean you’re the devil.

Sure we’re selfish and smug and generally irritating. We may think the world owes us something while being outraged we need to give anything in return. There’s the high chance that our obsession with social media will lead to the downfall of humanity, and yes, Lindsay Lohan is among our number. But we never tried to make you wear tencel jeans, just like every generation before us we to have been dragged into a war we don’t like, and as with so many people our age we are yet to come across any proof that we are actually wrong (about anything). We haven’t had our chance to stuff up the world yet.

We didn’t invent the Yuppie, we just perfected it. We didn’t create workplace ambition, we just turned having a career into a blood-sport. We’re not indecisive, we just want one of everything. Peter Pan was created long before we refused to grow up, and of course we don’t like hard work, that’s what Google was invented to get rid of. Why make plans if we intend to be late to everything?

Yes, there are plenty of Gen Y tossers out there. But there’s also Dick Cheney, Gordon Ramsay, Tori Spelling and Justin Bieber. Each generation has a lot to answer for. Unless people start sighing “Baby Boomers” every time someone offers completely unsolicited life advice, and grumbles “Gen X-ers” the minute a woman discovers botox, I think it’s time to cool it on the use of “Gen Y” as a form of abuse.

It’s the beauty of a free, civilized society. People are perfectly capable of annoying the shit out you no matter how old they are.


Painefull Out

Making the Sale

Does anything feel more dick-ish, than when one attempts to sell ones self? I imagine whores struggle with this all the time – how does one make a case for their professional ability without feeling like a giant knob? In the case of male escorts, I suppose that’s the aim, but for everyone else it’s a real struggle.

I have never spent so much time on a 2 page document in my life. That document is my Resume (also moonlighting as the bane of my current existence). Words and phrases I refuse to use include ‘goal orientated’, ‘go-getter’, ‘team player’, ‘leader’ or ‘track record of success’ – for one thing, I have never heard anyone use those words to describe me, and I don’t want to be the person who starts a trend. Those words and phrases describe the kind of person who creates their own committees and over-indulges in powerpoint presentations. Those words and phrases describe someone who is likely to ask you to “action that”… which IS NOT A THING. People who say “action that” are clinging to a catchy slogan the way Gretchen Weiners clings to “Fetch” in Mean Girls (“Gretchen, stop trying to make ‘fetch’ happen! It’s not going to happen”).

So should I be honest? When I left my last job my boss’s farewell speech referred to me as “The most cynical person I have ever met.” Is that a selling point? One boss once asked me if I was retarded. Perhaps I should scratch him from my referee list.

Writing a resume is like being allowed to write your own obituary. Gloss over the war crimes, skate past the infidelities and allow that bankruptcy/embezzlement moment to slip your mind. I imagine Lara Bingle’s resume refers to her ‘ability to make headlines’ (and money from the interviews that follow), Troy Buswell’s states he has a ‘nose for business’ (not to mention chairs) and Tiger Woods drops in that he’s a ‘world class player’ (insert comedic golfing pun at will).

I have also been informed by my siblings that I will struggle to impress any employer the minute they figure out I am in Gen Y. My siblings are all bitter Gen X-ers who envy my overwhelming ambition, selfish attitude to life and current unemployment. Of course they can’t help their bitterness, I’d be bitter to if I had to spend my professional life being thwarted by Baby Boomers. Most of the Baby Boomers I know are also now worried - probably because they’re my parents and they fear I may need to move home soon.

Perhaps I should add a non Gen Y quality to the list of skills on my resume to ease the concerns of those who might pay me to work. ‘Am philosophically opposed to Peter Pan’s lifestyle choices’, ‘Does not partake in Twitter’ and ‘Is ashamed to share a generational title with Justin Bieber’ are all options I am considering to beef up my credibility. If I really was properly Gen Y in all those horrible clichéd ways, I’d simply auction off my services on Ebay.

As is, I’m left with a blank word document and the burning desire to eat next month. First I need a few more cups of tea, a glass of wine or 2 while I read the paper, then plan a dinner party. Then I’ll sample some Mint Slice, vacuum the lounge room and have a nap. After that, I’ll get back to selling myself via The Resume – I will totally action that.


Painefull Out