The theory of tolerance: the teenager edition

A few weeks ago, I returned to Boston to finish my last semester at college. At the airport, a young freshman, faultlessly mesmerized by my sage and charm, formed an impetuous bond to me. A bond comprised of a most irritating adhesive.

Despite snide retorts and plenty of attitude, I couldn’t kick the boy scout (... Figuratively speaking, of course...). So I resolved on the fact that I could save money and share a cab with him back to campus. Hey, that IRA isn’t going to build itself! Amiright?? Ay ohhhh!

But I digress.

In the cab, the conversation was as contrived as the boy-child was vapid. What’s worse, within the Ambien prescribed conversation, he tried to shame me for not recognizing the name of a football player. ~BLASPHEMY!~ … Please! Allow me verbalize the palpable side-eye judgment I threw his way...

Teenager, with candid disdain: “How do you NOT know who that is? Where have you been?? I can’t bel—”

Me, always with perspicacity and eloquence: “Where have I been?! Where have YOU been?! What about 1988, 1989, and 1990… Oh that’s right, you weren’t alive!! Respect your elders, fool!”

Damn kids these days.