At first it was just Starbucks but then the old ones discovered the independent coffee shops. There were so many new patrons that the Millennials could no longer find tables to leisure over to work or play games. The old ones were there at opening time, there at closing time, seven days a week.
The owners and baristas had mixed feelings. Business was booming. The old ones were good tippers, and open minded about dairy substitutes, but they missed the young crowd, the crowd that had basically originated and perpetuated expensive caffeine addiction. Isn’t it the old ones who criticize the amounts of money the young ones spend on designer coffee?
The owner of an already popular coffee shop noticed an increase in reviews of his weekly specials on Facebook. One old geezer sounded as if he were a sommelier critiquing a fine bottle of French wine. His review read:
The Autumn Macchiato, Barista Geoff’s latest creation, leaves dominant notes of caramel in the nose and on the palate. I ordered it on both Tuesday and Wednesday, substituting oat milk for the half-and-half the second time around. The body of this coffee invited a subtle difference with the oat milk, but its structure remained untouched, both rich and opulent at the same time. Run, don’t walk before it’s replaced by next week’s special! Bravo, Geoff!
The young ones still drank their coffees, but they were forced to move to benches, hunched over their devices in parks and on roadsides. They were not happy. They viewed the old ones as fat cats who already had it all. Fat cats who had never experienced crippling student loan debt or inflated housing. Their retirement funds afforded the world’s riches and time. And now they had invaded their coffee havens.
The world of baristas was not the only profession to notice something brewing. The tattoo parlors had never been so busy. The old ones were coming in droves. At first the artists had to charge deposits because in the beginning the old ones were noted for chickening out or changing their minds about getting sleeves. Then they would end up asking for the names of their grandchildren on some small inconspicuous spot. But after a short while, the tattoo thing really caught on. The coffee shops were now filled with the new regulars sporting ink that crawled halfway up their necks into their gray locks.
The Zs couldn’t help but take note. WTF? Appointments at their favorite ink spots? Most Gen Zs preferred the walk-in to add a little of this and a little of that to their showcases. Standing in line with the old ones who could be overheard using all the lingo, words like “tats” and “ink slinger” made them irritated. They really weren’t interested in hearing old couples discuss their plans for matching tramp stamps, while sipping espressos. The old ones did not mind the wait. They had all the time in the world.
It wasn’t long before piercings became popular, too. The piercings ranged from bites to philtrum rings to multiple holes crawling up ear cartilage. The old ones with already pronounced lisps became almost unintelligible if they added a gold stud to the center of the tongue. Ten-millimeter gauges were accomplished in record time due to the soft, aging earlobe tissue.
About the same time that the piercings caught on, the shelves in the beauty supply stores were impossible to keep stocked with pastel hair dye. A trend that the old ones set was a rainbow effect. That way they didn’t have to decide on any one color, and they could share the boxes of dye with each other. Some people thought the old ones were LGBTQ supporters. That pissed the Zs off who knew the truth.
The Millennials and Gen Zs became depressed. A lot of them had already been through therapy as children, but they went back. The conversations on the streets included resentments the young ones were feeling.
“Who do they think they are? They already had idyllic childhoods, able to roller skate on sidewalks, playing outside until dark.”
“Yeah, my grandparents talk about how they never had to lock their doors.”
“And no one ever heard of AP courses in those days. If they wanted to get into college, they got into college. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“They are all selfish pigs, stealing our identities. They need to stick to their own fads, like elastic waist bands, highlights, and clip-on earrings.”
Some of the more outspoken young ones started to organize. It didn’t take long until the word protest was brought up. Before they could decide on a motto, a twenty-two-year-old APP designer who killed it with the sale of his product, donated a very large sum so the group could build a coffee shop/tattoo parlor/piercing place. The ultimate plan was to check ID at the door and no one over forty-two would be allowed in. Their lawyers advised against it, but they thought they would take their chances.
A large, abandoned skating rink was purchased and the first thing the group did was to build a fence, ten feet tall, all the way around the parking lot. They also planned to charge for parking, hoping that would dissuade the old ones from even entering the area. The old ones were known for hating to pay for parking, but who knew if that had changed.
When the skate rink was transformed the old ones continually tried to get into the new all-in-one spot. After all, the place had 5G which helped with their TikTok posts. But the bouncers kept them out.
Then the old ones started to convene. They were much more organized than the young ones had been. Many had belonged to unions in the past and their experience paid off. Their plan was to storm the skating rink. But word got out. A Gen Z part-owner of the rink had hacked into his grandfather’s laptop when he was plant sitting at his house. The grandfather had spelled out the entire plan. The young ones would get ready. And boy did they.
The fence was enhanced with a low voltage of electricity. Parking fees were doubled. A motto was chosen. Posters were made.
When the old ones arrived, right on time at six in the morning, the young ones blasted the entire Beatles songbook, starting with ‘Get Back’ which doubled as the motto. Word spread fast not to climb the fence, after about ten of the elders got shocked when they tried to scale it by the entrance.
The old ones quickly regrouped, sat down and linked arms, enough of them to surround the entire fence. Then they started singing, each one remembering all the words to every single Beatles song as if it were 1968. Eventually they unlinked their arms to stand up and twist and shout.
Inside the skating rink, the young ones expressed their disappointment through cuss words and foot stomping. Stealing the old ones’ music had not exactly worked. Amid the groans a man shouted, “I’ve got it!” A group followed the shouting man, hoping he knew what to do. The man went over to the sound system and stopped the Beatles track, then chose some random indie tune. An uproar of praise swelled in the room. This egged the man on. He ran to the electrical box and cranked up the voltage on the fence. The young ones knew it was all they could do.