In yet another malicious effort, the Youths have replaced ringing doorbells with the barbaric practice of texting “here.”
They’ve done it again! The voraciously greedy members of “Generation Z” are not satisfied with going after beloved staples of this United States of America such as the napkin, mayonnaise and “breastaurant” chain industries, now they have brought this crusade to our Victorian-style front porches. Literally. This roughshod and rowdy generation is killing the doorbell industry!
Thanks to the newfangled habit of these Gen Z teens, or “Zeens” as they call themselves, texting “here” whenever they pull up to a friend’s house, the doorbell that has served my family for generations has fallen into utter disrepair. Now, I have been wanting to embrace the “rusted chic” trend that my friends have been telling me about over Tuesday brunch, but this is NOT what I had in mind.
And of course, where there are Zeens embracing new technology and the many benefits they give, there are consequences. Not only are the doorbells in my neighborhood rusting away, but now they’re building houses without them! The Jenkinsons, a bunch of snobby bandwagoners, have just moved into one right down the street from me.
The nerve of those people. I came up to their door, just to do my neighborly duty of letting them know they will need to cut their grass in about one to two weeks, only to find that there was absolutely no way to announce my presence! Oh, and do not even get me started with how ungrateful they were when I finally managed to catch their attention.
Those lunatics were screaming their heads off about how “it’s four in the morning” and “you didn’t have to shatter our window” and other gobbledegook. How else was I supposed to let them know I was here? Knocking? Like an animal? If these Zeen-wannabes can’t handle a simple neighborly heads-up then maybe they should find a different place to live!
Unfortunately, the Zeens aren’t just sinking their artificially-straightened teeth into my neighborhood: they’re even targeting my own precious child! One day, I was outside washing my car — in my favorite mankini no less — when I caught my Zeen’s friend texting “here” to my beloved Meykehnzee. Quickly taking umbrage with this, I marched over there to have a word with them.
Pardon my French but goshdarn, the excuses this Zeen made! They put on this fake panicked voice and said things like “My friend in the backseat accidentally ate peanut butter” and “they left their ‘EpiPen’ with Meykehnzee.” Ha! Back in my heyday I ate peanut butter all the time and I never had an “allergy.” When my throat swelled up and hives broke out, I just rubbed some dirt on them!
Trying to humor this pathetic attempt at a con, I let my daughter (also faking panic, they must’ve planned this out in advance) “save a life” or whatever but I refused to let her ride with her little friends to “Urgent Care” for “moral support.” I may not keep up with all the trends, but I know that “Urgent Care” is just Zeen code for underage drinking and deep meaningful conversations. Well not today suckers! I sent my daughter inside and those hooligans on their way!
Let these stories be a lesson to you all out there, the Zeens are coming and they are “hongry” (as they put it). First they’ll be getting rid of our doorbells, then our front doors, and soon we’ll be back to living in the wild if they have their way! Well, the buck stops here. Even though the Zeen Collective seems intimidating, you too can make little changes to help our cause.
For example, if you see a Zeen about to send a text, just spike that phone into the ground. Smash their devices of disruption right back to Mother Gaia where they belong. There’s no way they can retaliate with the law or anything; they hardly know how to eat breakfast before a 9 a.m. class!
We non-Zeenies didn’t start this war, but we can be the ones to finish it! Stay strong.
