Hi, ma’am.
That’s it? You’re not gonna ask how my day’s been going?
If I found everything okay?
Not even a smile? Your generation was a mistake.
You new kids are fucking insufferable.
By keeping the talking to a minimum.
I’m trying to spare your feelings.
Or would you rather me get on the intercom again
and tell everyone about your stool hardeners?
So fucking disrespectful. See,
back in my day, we BC or AD.
Back in my day, we knew a little something about customer service.
I ran that McDonald’s like it was the Fucking Navy.
Had the pleasure of serving President Truman
for one of the very first commercials.
Of course, that was before most TVs weren’t colored, so.
Jesus Christ, how fucking old are you?
You managed to name a president I’ve never heard of
by the time I’m your age.
I hope and pray to be dead for at least thirty years.
You don’t have to hope and pray.
Climate change alone is cute.
You even think you got 15 years?
I’d say I’d pray for the future of your kids.
But obviously you ain’t got no fucking kids.
Look at your ugly ass. Ain’t no bitches laying down with you
looking like a short ass, snackle tooth Jimmy Walker.
Look at me wasting good jokes on you.
You probably don’t even know who that is.
That’s right. This isn’t the Gen Z show.
You don’t eat me up, I eat you up.
You youth make Me sick.
You’re a bunch of punk bitches who are gonna die at 35
a fat fuck food poisoning
scrolling on your fat fuck phones
once all the processed shit little’s pump into your fat fuck groceries
finally catches up with you.
Well, I got to live long. Socializing,
vacationing, you know,
touching grass. But don’t worry,
if you YouTube Ocean sounds on your laptop,
turn your Dollar Tree Box fan on high,
and stand at Mommy’s basement window
when the sun’s hitting you just right,
just search through the Bahamas hashtag.
I’m sure it’s just as fulfilling.
Have a nice day, ma’am.
You too, hon.