But there’s another generation coming and, believe me, it’s way worse.  I know this because I have two of them living in my home and they are THE. WORST. ROOMMATES. EVER.

Let’s start with my son.  Not that long ago, he would take a dump on the living room floor in the middle of a party, and blame it on one of our neighbors.  (Yes, Linda, we know it wasn’t you.)  Sometimes he would start screaming at 3 in the morning for NO REASON WHATSOEVER.  Can you imagine someone like that as your boss?  Well, maybe you can.

And then there’s my one-year-old daughter, also a member of generation Z.  Her manners, first of all, are atrocious.  People in my generation — hell, even millennials, for that matter — politely ignore the fact that I am bald.  It simply isn’t a subject that comes up in polite company.  But my daughter loves to play this game every day where she makes a big deal of my disability.  It goes like this:

Daughter (pointing at her eyes): Eyes.
Me: That’s right, sweetheart, you have eyes.
Daughter (pointing at my eyes): Eyes.
Me: Right.  Those are daddy’s eyes.
Daughter (pointing at her hair): Hair.
Me: Ok. Here we go.
Daughter (pointing at my hair): Hair … No … Just head.

Our conversations are mostly like that.  Her speaking in one or two word sentences (usually shrill commands), and me trying to prevent the decline of letters.  I even wrote a book about it.

Both of my nasty roommates have terrible taste.  My wife or I will spend half the day cooking something healthy with a French-sounding name and when we put it in front of them, they won’t touch it.  But they’ll eat it off the floor the next day.  I have personally witnessed them eat the following:

• petrified peas
• cat food
• teddy bear stuffing
• jurassic broccoli
• hair (not mine, obviously)
• hard, ancient cheese (along with the wax casing)
• lint

I could go on.

What is the world coming to?  If these whipper-snappers are going to call the shots someday, you can count me out.