I started hating teenagers early. By the time I turned 20 my contempt was in full-bloom. I lied about my age, not so I could start drinking but so that I wouldn't have to associate myself with a group of people for whom Abercrombie & Fitch and Hot Topic were the pinnacle of fashion. I credit my premature aging to an early and abiding love for "Full House" and my "Little House on the Prairie" books along with matching prairie girl dress. Because nothing gets you in with your peers like being able to dress up like Laura Ingalls and recite long passages of "Little House in the Big Woods." It also helped that I was a relentless know-it-all, completely oblivious to my peers' annoyance and had a profound lack of understanding of popular music. In fact, I was so oblivious that I didn't realize that I should lie about hating New Kids on the Block and that a Wilson Phillips t-shirt tucked into black jeans might be advertising my uncoolness.
It's remarkable that I was able to escape being such a huge nerd. But somehow I did and I went through high school without being a complete social misfit. But, by sixteen I was completely over being a teenager and the majority of my stupid classmates, most of whom I despised and held in complete contempt. (Note: if we are Facebook friends then you did not fit into this category.) Most of them seemed like semi-racist, homophobic, misogynistic fools who listened to rap, had never read a book and were looking forward to recreating high school in the dorms at CSU. In sum, I was still an annoying know-it-all but with cooler clothes and better taste in music.
It goes without saying I still hate teenagers. Mostly now I'm just crotchety. I have two kids. I can no longer wear a bikini. I still listen to Bad Religion and wear Converse, but I'm just crotchety-in-disguise. Are you smoking cigarettes on the sidewalk by my fence? I'll spray you with a hose. Ding dong ditching me? I will leave the couch, walk down the street with a flashlight and scream at you. Playing your music too loud on a Tuesday night? I'll call the cops and report a noise complaint. In other words, I'm the perfect person to have in our neighborhood because I'll do all the things that the really elderly might be too terrified and/or deaf to do themselves. I have children! I'm slavishly attached to my routine! And most of all, someone needs to teach you a lesson! Last night though, I had perhaps the most infuriating teenager interaction of my life. Many, many adorable little kids came to our door and I was all too happy to give out fistfuls of candy to princesses, robots and dinosaurs. At 7:30 we decided to put our overly-sugared and hysterical children to bed. We set out a bowl of candy but neglected to put out a sign that said "Don't be selfish, take only one piece," so within about seven seconds it was empty. We'd just about gotten Bear to bed when...
*DING DONG*
I like to believe that even as a teenager (if I'd been allowed to trick-or-treat which I WASN'T because my parents were rational human beings who figured by fifteen we could buy our own goddamn candy) if I'd gone to a house with an empty candy bowl I would have figured that they were out of candy, and gone on my merry way. But not these girls. Oh no, that was one step of cleverness too many for them. I opened the door to see one fifteen-year-old dressed up as a slutty...something... and the other not dressed up at all and holding a pillowcase expectantly. Maybe she was somewhat shamed by resentful, annoyed expression, and tried to tell me she "forgot" her mask. Since they couldn't be bothered to put on a costume I made sure to give them one piece each of the worst candy from Bear's stash (gum). Then I slammed the door in their faces and turned off the light before they could get past our driveway. Next year I'll try to be even more passive-aggressive and I'll happily take suggestions on how to accomplish that.
No comments:
Post a Comment