Stop worrying about millennials: generation Z is way scarier

Everywhere you look, you can find signs of how millennials are ruining the world.  The real-estate market is going to crash because they don’t own houses.  The manufacturing industry will collapse because they refuse to buy cars and because they subscribe to something called the sharing economy.  And these trophy kids are impossible to work with because — unlike the rest of us — they dislike “canned career advice or the same old, same old management-training tips.”  Also they spend almost as much time looking at their cellphones as their parents spent … watching television.

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.