These Kids Today

Ok, it's official. I’m old.

Two more students from my school arrived last week to start their 18-week externship. One strikes me as rather Forrest Gumpish, but I actually like her better than the other one. I tried to engage the Other One in conversation and quickly realized she was typical of the students I’ve encountered at school (which is why I’ve made no friends there, aside from a few of the chefs).

I've started to wonder if it's a socio-economic thing or a generational thing. They are, after all, the first generation raised with the Internet from their grade school days, and I can’t help but wonder if that hasn’t had a negative impact on their social skills.

I am already damn sure that the whole "My Child is A Very Special Student At XYZ School" bumpersticker culture has filled them with delusions of grandeur.

Eunice (not her real name, but I don’t like the name, so it fits well), pudgy cheeks and chunky black eyewear aside, has an air of coddled privilege about her. I thought I’d be nice when we were both working in the finishing room together, so I asked her the usual where are you from and so on. She would answer and then fall silent. I thought oh, ok, maybe she just doesn’t want to talk, but when I looked up, I saw her staring at me expectantly, as if "I am prepared for your next question about my fabulous life." There was no concept of conversational give and take with her, and I wonder, having met so many teens and early 20-somethings like that, whether it’s just immaturity or coming of age in an Internet culture where face-to-face conversation is unpracticed.

I know I was hopelessly self-centered at that age, but, even being gawky and anxious as well, I could still carry on a conversation, especially if someone were leading me along, as I was with Eunice.

Later in the day, I saw her wandering the bakery with that "where is it?" look on her face that I know well (having worn it for most of my first month there). I asked what she was looking for and she said "gold cake circles." I pointed out exactly where they were and she started heading toward them. I waited, curious. And waited. Finally, I said "and you’re welcome." She didn’t even acknowledge that at first, but about five seconds later, she said "oh." Ten seconds after that, she added "uh... thank you?"

That’s the right response, sweetie, just half a minute too late.

Later that night, stuck again in the finishing room with Eunice, she mentioned she had apprenticed to a French baker but that she hated him because he was rich. "I hate rich people," she declared with the certainty that only someone who has not lived long in the world can have.

Not five minutes later, oblivious to the irony, when I asked if she’d found a decent apartment here in Vegas, she replied: "Oh, it’s ok, but I didn’t find it. My parents flew out here to find one for me. They wanted someplace safe. It’s $3000 a month, but I get free limo service and cable. There’s also a jacuzzi."

Yes, Eunice. Rich people are quite hate-able.

And no, the $3000 is not a typo. Hearing it nearly gave me, at my advanced age, a myocardial infarction. Her mummy and daddy are paying more per month for her apartment than I’ll pay for my $625 a month one bedroom during my entire stay in Vegas.

I will say she is very good at piping. Maybe one day I'll hire her as my cake decorator. I'll be sure to pay her a low wage so that there's no risk of her joining the hated rich, and I'll keep her locked in the basement so she doesn't have to interact with other humans of any class.