It turns out that my primary care manager, to
describe his role in insurance speak, was born in 1987. I would be placing my health in the
inexperienced hands and technology addled mind of a Millennial, and that would
not do. I called my HMO, told the
customer service drone on the other end I wanted a new doc, and to my pleasant
surprise I got my way. My new “PCM” is
an actual MD, and she was born in 1961.
Her professional record is substantial and, as far as I was able to
find, unblemished.
Problem solved, at least for the time being. I know that this conundrum will recur as the
years progress. Eventually, the
professionals of my generation or earlier will have retired and my only choices
for doctors, lawyers, and accountants will come from today’s young’uns. I am dreading the prospect.
I never thought I would feel this way. After all, I’ve worked with young people
throughout my professional life as well as in my community service
activities. More importantly, I’m a
little disappointed in my own kneejerk judgments in light of my own youthful
frustrations with what I saw as my elders’ misperceptions of my Generation X
peers.
If you look at media depictions of Gen X from
the Eighties and Nineties, you would have trembled for the future. Personally, I was a little mystified by
them. Even relatively sympathetic pop
culture depictions of Xers, such as the movies Reality Bites, Clerks, or just about any of the early work of
Richard Linklatter failed to reflect my subjective experiences as a teen and
twentysomething. Nor did the literary
emanations of Chuck Palahnuik or even Douglas Coupland, who did the most to
popularize the moniker “Generation X,” fully resonate with me even though I
enjoyed them on their own merits.
I suppose it was because by my late twenties,
I was a married homeowner with a couple of kids and a middle management job I’d
held since graduating college several years earlier. I was neither a slacker nor a techie. I wasn’t financially dependent on my parents
as I tried to make my breakthrough as a—fill in the blank—poet, musician, film
producer, artist, or dancer. I suspect the
majority of people my age didn’t have these experiences either, any more than
the typical Baby Boomer was a hippie other than perhaps in the sartorial sense.
But as I contend with increasingly callow groups
of kids each semester, my resentment waxes while my hopes for the future wane. Official expectations don’t help matters. The executive dean at my small campus suffers
from a case of youth worship bordering at times on ephebophilia. (The semi-fictional Dean Kimpossible who occasionally
haunts my posts is an all-too-slight exaggeration of an all-too-real
person.) My job security as a
non-tenured prof consequently demands that I cater to the shallow intelligence
and short attention spans of my young charges.
Standing on principle can lead to unemployment in academia just as
easily as it can anywhere else in this economy. I may be
craven, but I’m employed.
What I find so hard to grasp is not so much
their dependence on technology, but the way in which they use it. I was inspired by the role of social
media—Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, et al.—in organizing and publicizing protest
during the Arab Spring. By contrast, Millennials
at home use it to ceaselessly document the minutiae of their daily lives. The outcome is that, to a larger degree than
any generation before them, the present youth cohort exists within a
self-referential bubble nearly impossible to burst. Collective narcissism, if you will. Already driven to distraction by their toys, our
Millennials have had their self-esteem propped up by parents and the
educational system to the point where failure really isn’t an option; accordingly,
it has all but been eliminated as a possibility.
So, why did I refuse the boy-PA as my primary
care doc? Was it necessarily his youth
that made me ask for someone else? Well,
let’s just say it was a matter of premonition and a desire to avert the
inevitable just a little bit longer. Many
of my students are self-declared nursing majors or they plan to go into some
other healthcare field. A few of them
have told me they’re pre-med. I guess
someone has to do it. And while I know
that the rigors of training will pull the bullshit card on a few of them,
I also know that many will get through nonetheless. (There’s also the possibility that the medical
and nursing schools will eventually have their own versions of Dean
Kimpossible, in which case we’re all screwed.
I try to push those thoughts aside for the sake of my own fragile peace
of mind.)
Scene: The Operating Room.
Time: The not-so-distant future.
The PATIENT is already prepped and on
the table. Enter DR. CHELSEA, DR.
TIFFANY, DR. TODD, NURSE BRITNEY, and NURSE JOSH.
DR.
CHELSEA
Dr.
Todd, is the patient anaesthetized and ready?
DR.
TODD
Yeah,
we good.
DR.
TIFFANY
DR.
CHELSEA
(Scoffs)
Huh,
yeah! I totally looked it up on
Wikipedia!
Oh,
wow! That’s such a great idea! I’m so doing that next time!
DR.
CHELSEA
(Smugly)
Yeah,
well, that’s why I was first in my medical school class!
Scalpel,
please.
(NURSE BRITNEY seems distracted as she hands
DR. CHELSEA the scalpel.)
(Tearfully, her voice quavering…)
It’s
Dr. Jared. He…he…unfriended me on Facebook! I…I…just don’t know what to d-d-do…
(NURSE BRITNEY’s voice trails off into a
sob. She buries her face in her hands. DR. CHELSEA, overcome with shock, suddenly
drops the scalpel. It lands with a
clatter on the instrument tray.)
DR.
CHELSEA and DR. TIFFANY
(In unison…)
Oh…my…god!!! What a jerk!
DR.
TODD
(Scoffing)
Huh,
Jared! What a pantload! You could do way better.
NURSE
BRITNEY
Thanks,
guys!
NURSE
JOSH
(Abruptly, in an alarmed tone)
Aw,
dude! Check it out! The patient’s vitals are slipping!
(She is clearly annoyed by the interruption)
Josh,
WTF! Can’t you see Britney’s upset? Stop being such an asshole, okay?
I’m
just sayin’…
Yeah,
well, save it for later. The patient’s
not going anywhere. And Britney’s
hurting now!
(There is a loud, steady tone as the PATIENT
suddenly flatlines. DR. CHELSEA turns
around, clearly agitated.)
What
now? Can’t this guy leave us the hell alone for two seconds?
Aw,
weak! He’s dead!
DR.
TODD
What
a dick! He could’ve at least waited a
coupla minutes before bailin’ on us. Epic fail!!!
DR.
TIFFANY
Hey,
wait, this means we’re done for the day!
Let’s go out tonight!
Omigod,
that’s great! I just bought a low-cut
dress that totally shows off my new tattoo!
(DRS. CHELSEA and TIFFANY grasp each
other by both hands. They jump up and
down in unison)
Omigod! Omigod!
Omigod! A-i-i-i-e-e-e-e-e!
NURSE
BRITNEY
And
let’s go to the beach tomorrow! I just got
a new thong and a bikini wax! I am so
ready to forget Jared and meet some new guys!
(DRS. CHELSEA and TIFFANY
begin jumping and squealing again. NURSE BRITNEY joins in)
DR.
TODD
(Jerks his thumb toward the now deceased
PATIENT)
Uh,
what about this choad over here?
(Sighs disgustedly, snapping off her surgical
gloves)
Oh,
him.
I don’t know…just call it,
already.
(Exit DRS. CHELSEA and TIFFANY and
NURSE BRITNEY, shaking their heads in annoyance at having been inconvenienced)
(Motions toward NURSE JOSH)
Dude,
like, cover him up or something!
(NURSE JOSH carelessly throws the
sheet over the PATIENT’S head)
So,
like, what’re you doin’ tonight?
I’m
goin’ to a rager over at my cousin’s place.
He’s got this DJ playin’ there, name’s DJ Spazzz.
Yeh-yeh-yeh! I heard of him!
Yeh-yeh-yeh! This dude’s, like, off the chain,
yo! You comin’?
Ai’ight!
S-w-e-e-e-t! We outta here!
(DR. TODD and NURSE JOSH pull out
their phones and begin texting intently as they amble towards the door. Exeunt.
Fade to black…)
Fade to black, indeed…
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