The Competency of the Twenty Something Crowd is Seriously Depleted

I thought the twenty-somethings were supposed to be the "gadget kids", but yesterday I realized that that must be the teenage crowd. For some reason all signs of intelligence has escaped this group. Now, I'm not specifically speaking about those of you that are my friends and members of this group, because after all, if I've decided I like you, you are very definitely not an idiot. Which would therefore, qualify you to be an anomaly. Therefore, you are excluded from this rant.

My hope for the future for America was almost shattered yesterday when I went into a UPS Store to mail a package to a friend. The first girl, (probably still in high school) helped me promptly, took my package to the back to box it up with peanuts and stuff. She came back, set it down, put on her coat and left. No word to the other workers that she was headed out, and that I would need some assistance. So I stood there. Waiting for the other two (Bimbino, and Bimbette) to finish with their customers so that I could be helped.

After a few minutes, not too long of a wait, but enough to start to be irritated, Bimbino helped me. He was about 6 feet tall, the counter was about 3 1/2. So he folded his body in half to put his face right up to the monitor to type in the information I had entered into the address form. Look down at the form, plaster face to screen, look down at form, plaster face to screen. This was the routine for about 10 minutes (OK, I exaggerate, but it was more than 5 minutes for sure!). With the occasional "ummm, errr, ok". Why did it not occur to Bimbino to turn the monitors face upward so he could see it without having to bend so far over? The monitor was a new model, and could easily accommodate this. I almost did it for him. He hands me my receipt. He's typed in the address wrong. So here I go again. Look down at the form, plaster face to screen, look down at form, plaster face to screen. Another 5 minutes have passed (by this time, I'm actually watching the clock)by the time he thinks he's gotten it right. Then he starts handing me all this paperwork. I have no idea what the heck it all was! Then he takes it all from me to staple it. When he did this, he put the label to the box down on the counter. So to ensure that a. the label was right this time, and b. that the label actually made it to the intended package, I picked it up and stuck it on myself. He handed me my stack of receipts and I left the store. Very insecure if my package would make it's destination or not, and feeling very sad that this is the face of the twenty something-generation. Floppy "I think I'm original hair, but really this style was popular in the 70's, but I'm too dumb to know that", hairdo and all.

The only thing that held my hope for the future, is that this group is right behind my group (which, eeek, I guess would be the, EEEK! thirty-something crowd. Oh MY GOD Buffy, did I just say that out loud?!) This consoled me for one reason and one reason only. They are too close to my generation that they won't be able to screw up the world because my generation will pass it off to the generation behind them! This generation will probably still be smoking pot, working in gas stations, fast food restaurants, and the like, and won't even notice when they've got from hot young studs to lonely old people.

That reminds me. I better check the tracking on my package...