The Lazy Generation to the Rescue

I’m part of the Lazy Generation. That may not be the technical name for kids born in the late 1980s, but there’s enough cultural evidence out there to support this kind of nomenclature. Raised during a decade of unparalleled American economic comfort, we’ve been coddled by ex-hippie parents and sent to more colleges—many of them small and private—than any generation before us. It’s been a good ride.

Enter: The Fiscal Crisis. By far, this is the greatest recent example of the old guard fucking over the new flock of recently winged birdies.

Come December, I will be over $40,000 in debt because of school loans. I will also be free of college. But my degree doesn’t excite me. At this point, I see myself in a future of busy-work and financial worry. Surely, I’ll eventually find some beige office job, get treated something like a stapler, and this job will be accompanied by a paycheck that my parents will snort at. But when I signed up for this whole college thing, I wasn’t expecting to be rewarded with a grim financial milieu when popping out of academia’s swollen womb. I was hopeful then. With the current economy, I would be more financially able had I trained for some technical job. But no—I chose to broaden my mind, and because of that, I feel like an idiot.

Now, along with a majority of my classmates, I stare into the double-dealing eyes of the Dollar, cursing its name with scant breaths.

That statement may be dramatic, and there has to be some hope somewhere. Isn’t there always? Isn’t that what Barack Obama and John McCain are propagating as truth? Aren’t they saying, “Vote for me and I’ll clean up this sticky mess we’ve walked into”?

This jaded, cynical, lazy generation doesn’t exactly buy into the hope wars. My generation sees beyond the self-serving power-struggle and the “brave” rhetoric. The answer to the financial crisis cannot be found in Washington or on Wall Street. The answer to our fiscal woes is the hands of people who are under 25 years old. Attention, kids: We’re our country’s only hope.

Backing up a bit, my generation’s cynicism is what will save us. As a kid of the 80s, I grew up with a heavy stock of television sitcoms that taught me how to be skeptical. From Full House to Friends, I have come to realize the difference between rhetoric and real intention. Because of this plethora of small screen narratives, I can smell bullshit from the next town over. And lately, with all of the news about Congress-this and Presidential election-that, I can’t get the stench out of my nose. I’ve tried everything—bleach, smelling salts, Chanel Number Five—and nothing has helped. That’s how I know that we’re financially wrecked, and our forefathers don’t have the slightest clue how to get us out of this mess-up. Once again: I have little faith that the generation that screwed over Generation Lazy is going to be able to help us. This situation is something we will have to fix ourselves.

I feel forced into action. As a 21-year-old, here is what I have decided I will do: Work. Hard.

It pains me to type that. You must understand that this is no easy statement from someone born into the Lazy Generation. But here I pledge to work my knuckles until they bleed and my brain until it’s raw. My hands have never bled before, at least not because of work, and I prefer to keep my brain nice and cozy, bathed in a pleasant solution of hard alcohol and Judge Judy. But no more. I’m beginning to feel desperate, and people in dire situations do crazy things. One can only hope that the rest of my generation feels compelled enough to turn off Tyra and instead turn themselves into savvy business-bots.

Many people my age are educated, tech-savvy and well informed—or at least capable of becoming these three things. But until now, there’s been no real reason to get off the couch and exercise our bravado. And why would we? It’s comfortable on the sofa.

But the stakes are high. If we flip the fiscal crisis on its side, we can begin to see this as an opportunity rather than a disaster. We are currently presented with a chance to change the guard, to rewrite rules, and to reinvent the ordinary. But young people must think—and quickly. And then we must work. This means taking that beige office job, despite the fact that it kills you a little inside. This means biting your upper-lip and clenching your fists, and plodding through the massive piles of bullshit that inevitably lie ahead. Because of this disaster, we can change the perception of our generation. And we can define ourselves in the process.