Generationally Challenged

 

“Generationally Challenged” or, as they liked to be called, Misguided Generation Addicts.  That’s what the flyer said as I picked it up from the table of a coffee shop yesterday.  One of those café’s where only artistic and eccentric people hang out.  Those attempting to be writers, artists, musicians, etc.  And me, I suppose I must number myself amongst them as well.

It is my midlife crisis that sent me there.  At 31 I have suddenly decided that I must be a writer.  Though some may say this is a bit early for a midlife crisis, I can only say it is what it is and I must accept it.  Just as I must accept this flyer, this little gem of a story that has fallen into my lap.  A story of men and women who delude themselves into believing they are from another generation, another time is far more interesting then the love story between two elephants that I had been trying to write.  And so I decided to go to this meeting, this Generationally Challenged support group.  Indeed, even if it inspired no story the night would still be interesting and, if nothing else, I should at least be treated to free cookies and juice . . . I mean they do have snacks at these things don’t they.

O.M.G.A. (Organization of Misguided Generation Addicts) the yellow flyer began.  Feeling Lost in Time.  Stuck in the past or looking too far ahead to the future.  Then come and meet your fellows who are fighting this same affliction.  Misguided Generation Addicts effects over ten thousand people nation wide.  Come and join our small support group who can help you overcome this disease and return to a normal and contemporary life. 

O.M.G.A. meets every Thursday night at 7:30 at the Eau Claire Community Center, Room 211.  (And there are no cameras or telescreens Leon)

Who wouldn’t be intrigued by such a flyer?  Who wouldn’t set off to the Eau Claire Community Center that Thursday night?  Well, I did just that.  With a taste for cookies, a notebook and pen in hand, and the flyer in my back pocket I wandered over to the community center, but the moment I stepped into that room 211 I was in for far more then I bargained for. 

Nearly a dozen of the oddest men and women I had ever seen sat in a circle at the center of the room talking softly to themselves while waiting for 7:30 to arrive.  Several were dressed in period clothing ranging from medieval smocks all through to futuristic, and I might add fictional, Star Wars costumes.  A rather short round man was done up in the gaudy and lavish pantaloons, waist coat, heeled shoes, and periwig of a seventeenth century king.  A young, rather attractive girl was wearing an old twenties style flapper with a long cigarette holder in her hand.  A tall and pompous fellow was dressed in something that appeared to have been stolen from the costume room of a Shakespeare play.  A bald man with large nose was wearing the robes of a medieval monk.  A young man, with long hair and a scruffy beard, was wearing a pair of torn, acid wash jeans along with a Hootie and the Blowfish T-Shirt.  And an elderly woman was dressed, rather unappealingly so, in the Star Wars outfit of Princess Leah.

There were some in the circle, however, who appeared rather normal looking.  A short haired fellow who kept looking over his shoulder was wearing a simple suit.  A woman who seemed to be something like the monitor of the group was dressed quite casually.  And an older fellow wearing a tie-dye shirt and dirty jeans looked like nothing more then an aging hippy.  However, it was this man who spoke up first when all had gathered and were sufficiently supplied with cookies and juice. 

“Hello, my name is Stan and I am a Sixties Addict,” he began to which all responded simply, “Hello Stan!” save for me who was almost laughing already.  Really, I still could not believe this.  I couldn’t believe these people and instantly I was scribbling notes.

“For forty years I’ve been addicted to the sixties,” Stan went on, sounding as if he was stoned.  “I always told myself like ‘Hey man, you’re just an aging hippie!’  But since I’ve come here I’ve learned to accept that there is no such thing as an aging hippie.  It’s just a hallucination, just a bad trip.  All the drugs, they messed up my mind, but now I see clearly.  It’s like a really good drug, like all is free and beautiful right.  But with your help I’m trying to realize I’m just a regular guy . . . just a guy who likes to get high.”

“That’s very good Stan,” a middle aged, red haired woman who I took for the monitor said softly. 

“But . . . but sometimes I get these urges.”  Stan went on, slightly ashamed.  “Like when I drive passed a protest . . . I just . . . I just want to get into it man . . . just bring down the man . . .”

“Damn straight, they’re always watching,” the normal looking man in a suit shouted out unexpectedly as he looked around at the others with shifty eyes.

“And they’re trying to take away our alcohol,” the attractive girl dressed in a flapper interjected as well.  “F**k Prohibition.”

“But we can’t let them see us, we musn’t look odd,” the suit man said softly to himself.

“Revolution man!”  Stan shouted out as well.

“Alright! Alright,” the red haired monitor said, calming the others.  “Lets get back to Stan and his progress.”

“Well . . .” Stan went on slowly.  “I sold my van last week, which was a big step for me.  But man I had some good times in it,” he said with a laugh upon which the red haired monitor frowned.  “And I haven’t done drugs in like . . . like seven months.”

“Very good Stan,” the monitor said with a small clap which the rest quickly took up as well, showering him with their own encouragement, the Star Wars woman even rubbing Stan’s back, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

“Leon, perhaps we should go to you next,” the monitor said, looking to the twitchy man in a suit who sat next to Stan. 

“Of course,” he said, now with a pleasant smile upon his face.  “My name is Leon and I’m a 1984 addict.”

“Ohh!” I said aloud in a moment of understanding to which all eyes turned upon me.  “Sorry,” I added quickly.

“Go on Leon,” the monitor said and all eyes move back to him. 

“Yes, well, I’ve been doing well lately,” Leon said, trying to act as normal as possible, but looking over his shoulder occasionally as he spoke.  “I’ve stopped wearing my blue overalls . . . but I’m afraid they see me.  No, no!  I know they’re not watching me . . . not all the time anyway,” Leon went on, seeming to be struggling with himself as he tried to maintain a civilized and common place appearance.  “I’ve stopped hoarding chocolate as well . . . but I think someone was trying to steal it . . . they said I had too much . . . and I swear there’s a telescreen hidden somewhere in my house.” 

Leon was speaking faster and faster, twitching uncontrollably, and running right into a rant.  “They’re trying to erase me from the records.  To change my history.  They’re always watching me.”

“Leon, easy now,” the monitor said.

“Big Brother’s Always Watching!” He shouted out while raising his fist, but then went quiet and began talking softly to himself.  “. . . but I can’t let them see me . . . not like this . . . must calm . . . must calm . . . save it for the two minutes hate.”

“I think that’s enough Leon,” the monitor said quickly, “but thank you Leon for sharing.

“Thank you Leon,” the rest of the group said all together, but this time I wasn’t on the verge of laughing.  Now I was scared . . . really scared.  Who the f**k were these people?

“Why don’t you go next George,” the monitor said, looking to the tall man in the Shakespearean costume.

“My name is Prospero,” George shot back quickly.

“Alright Prospero, would you share with us your troubles,” the monitor said calmly.

“For nigh on twine years I’ve beeneth a Shakespearean addict as well as thine actor.”  George, or Prospero rather, said in a horrible Shakespearean accent.  “Troubles do cometh as they may and I meet.  Their faces I can taketh to graves unmarked.  And to some end I pursue this lady love.”

“Right, Prospero,” the monitor said, stopping his monologue.  “But you must speak a little more clearly so we can understand your meaning.”

“Very well fair lady,” Prospero said with a small bow and continued on with his tale which involved something about a father’s ghost and production of The Tempest he had seen when he was younger.  Then it was onto the medieval monk who spent his whole time proclaiming the greatness of ‘his majesty our father’ until he was interrupted by the Star Wars’ lady who was choking on a cookie.  Then it was onto the short, seventeenth century fellow they called Louie.  He seemed to have trouble with his subjects not obeying his commands and there fore could not give up his throne.  Little progress was made with him.  And then to the young man dressed in torn jeans and a Hootie and the Blow Fish T-Shirt who was addicted to the 90’s and seemed to have an especially strong affection for the character of Joey from TV’s Blossom.

“And I’m like WHOA, I can’t believe Hootie’s coming to town.”  The 90’s addict, Neal said.  “He played this killer set and the crowd was all like WHOA . . . this is Awesome!  But I didn’t stage dive once so . . . you know, Rock On!”  He ended while making the rock on sign with his hand.

“Right, very good Neal,” the monitor said and again I was nearly on the floor laughing, but bit my tongue and scribbled a few notes into my notebook.  When I looked up, however, I found the red haired woman staring at me. 

“And I do believe we have a new comer this evening,” she said with a smile, “please introduce yourself and tell us what it is that troubles you.”

“Me?” I began, “Oh no, I’m not here for help.  I’m just here to . . . to observe.”

“Oh, come on then,” the monitor said encouragingly, “you’re not going to make any progress with that attitude.”

“No, seriously . . . I just wanted to see what this group was about,” I went on.  “I have no misguided generation addiction.”

“Well why don’t you just tell us your name?” the monitor asked.

“My name is Ethan, but that is of no consequence.  I mean I only came because I found this flyer . . .” I began, reaching into my back pocket for the flyer.

“Come on man,” Stan the aging hippie interjected.  “I said the same thing, I said I was just high and wandered in here, but it was a lie.  I needed help man.  And you and me . . . we’re brothers.”

“Brothers, why are we brothers?” I asked, growing rather annoyed at this whole misunderstanding.

“Well . . . you’re addicted the seventies,” Stan said as if this was obvious.

“What?”  I said instantly, almost laughing.  “I’m not addicted to the seventies.”

“Look at your hair young master Ethan,” the elderly Star Wars woman said.

“My hair,” I started.

“And your clothes dude,” Neal said.

“I know man, I’ve been there,” Stan said sincerely.  “I’ve been to the thrift stories searching for the clothes.  But I’ve learned now to admit I’ve got to let it go.  I can’t be that hippie anymore.”

“Well . . .” I began rather tentatively.  “Why not?”

Instantly every one of the group gasped in their own prospective generational slang.

“Bogus,” Neal shouted out.

“Blaspheme,” the monk yelled.

“Such injury,” Louie the King said.

“Doublespeak,” Leon interjected.

“I think Leon is right Ethan,” the monitor added.  “I think you’re in denial.”

“Denial,” I scoffed.

“We all go through it Ethan,” the monitor said calmly, “I myself denied for years that I was living in the crustaceous period, but then one day I found myself naked and tracking what I thought was a saber tooth tiger through the forest.”

“Well . . .” I began, but then simply stopped and stared at the red haired woman.  “What?”

“Overcoming your denial is the first step to recovery Ethan, but it is a big one,” the monitor said.

“What . . . you mean like the five steps of grief,” I said, unable to believe the nerve of this red haired woman.  “This isn’t grief, this isn’t anything . . .”

“He denyeth once again,” Prospero interjected.

“F**k you George,” I said unable to withhold my temper any longer

“There’s anger,” the twenties addict said with a smile.

“The second step Ethan, very good,” the monitor said in a cheery voice and I had to do all I could to stop from shouting at her.

“Alright . . . alright,” I said, calming myself.  “Well let us look at this logically.  You say I wear seventies clothes.  Well lots of people wear seventies clothes these day.  It’s quite fashionable at the moment in fact.”

“Amongst teenagers and university students,” Leon said.

“So,” I shot back quickly.

“And how old are you Ethan,” the monitor added, “Thirty Five.”

“Thirty one,” I said sharply. 

“A bit old for fads perhaps,” the monk said softly.

“I’m not too old . . .” I began, but the f*****g hippie cut me off.

“You’re bargaining man.”

“Third step, excellent,” Neal added.

“Oh, but of course.  And so what of these ‘five steps’ do I have left?”  I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster, even doing the air quotes as I said ‘five steps.’

“Depression,” the monitor said softly, “. . . are you happy Ethan.”

“Well I was before I came in here.”

“That’s just what Big Brother wants you to think,” Leon said excitedly, “You’re just beginning to see the truth now.”

“Watch out for that telescreen behind you Leon,” I said bitterly to which Leon instantly froze and went white as a ghost.

“They’re watching, they’re watching, they’re watching,” he murmured to himself.

“Ethan,” the monitor said sternly.  “Lets not go attacking the others because of your own afflictions.”

“Mellow out,” I said sharply to which all gasped.

“See you are seventies,” the twenties girl said instantly.

“No,” I said, realizing quickly my mistake and panicking, “I’m not, I said . . . I said yellow cloud.”

“No you didn’t Ethan,” the monitor added.  “You’re almost through it Ethan.  Just get through the depression.  We’re here for you.”

“I’m not depressed.” I shouted back at her.

“Well you don’t look happy,” she said.

“F**k You!” I shouted back, “I’m Audie.”

“There it is again man,” Stan said and I jumped up from my chair, began making for the door, and flipped over the table of cookies and juice as I went.

“I think we’re back to anger,” the elderly Star Wars woman said and that was it.  I turned round to all of them and did the only thing I could think of.  I flicked them off and then stormed out of that damned room 211. 

All the way home I cursed that damn place, those delusional people, and that stupid flyer.  I burned both it and my notebook when I got home that evening, put on a few records, and then I got drunk.  In such a state, however, I began noticing things.  Began noticing little amenities that adorned my house such as the giant, green lamp in my living room, the old brown couch in my basement, the fondue set in my kitchen, the vista cruiser stowed away in my garage, the polyester suit I’ve never been able to throw out, the Atari still hooked up to my TV, the record player, the vinyl collection, the beaded curtains, the ceramic dishes, the blown glass candy dish, the ugly yellow refrigerator, the Led Zeppelin poster and American Graffiti posters, the lava lamp, the pet rock, the string art, the Star Wars action figures, and a thousand other things I had collected over the years, all things from the seventies.

And so now I’ve been clean of the seventies for five months.  I got rid of all my old vintage things and updated to the more contemporary.  I still have urges, I still pray  for another Led Zeppelin reunion, I waited in line for hours to see the new Star Wars movies, and I’ve never been able to get rid of my lava lamp, but every Thursday night I get help from my O.M.G.A buddies which is the reason I now write this to you. 

It is a plea to any of you out there who may be suffering from Misguided Generation Addiction.  There are many of us all across the world and most are completely unawares of their addiction.  Men and women who cling to the medieval, to the industrial revolution, to the ancient, to the Renaissance, to every century, every decade, and every generation including even those invented such as Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, 1984, Brave New World, Star Trek, and a thousand other generations that are best left behind.  But I am here to say there are people here to help out there.  So if you think you’re afflicted or even if you’re just curious, we meet every Thursday night at 7:30 at the Eau Claire Community Center.  Indeed, there are O.M.G.A. chapters all across the nation, all there to give you support, to help you through, and all serving cookies and juice. 

 

 

Put a knight in armor who used to work at a renaissance fair, when it closed he couldn’t give it up.  Another says “just a fast food knight” “What are you quoting movies now?” the knight said, slipping from character.  “And so what if I am,” ? shouts back “What are you gonna do . . . huh . . . what are you gonna slay me like a dragon . . . cause I’m right here.”  Monitor stops, says all seem a bit hung up on anger tonight, breathing exercise.

When Ethan’s angry she mentions breathing again, he says some 70’s slang, they point out, he defends a lot of people say.

Use Ethan’s scribbled notes more, show what he’s thinking, just simply though. “And in my note book I quickly scribbled blah, blah, blah”  Then can use just italics to mark his notebook scribbles later on.

Reviews

[No one]

I thought this was a wonderful idea, and it was scripted with humor and skill. I know I've got lots of 'vintage' stuff from the sixties and seventies, so I'm thinking about contacting the group myself.
These parts had me laughing aloud--
"Look at your hair(,) young master Ethan," the elderly Star Wars woman said."Mellow out," I said sharply to which all gasped.

"See you are seventies," the twenties girl said instantly.

"No," I said, realizing quickly my mistake and panicking, "I'm not, I said . . . I said yellow cloud."

[Eagle Cruagh]

Groan-------

A great story, drawn out a little too long.

Please write it again and this time incorporate the great
views from your long list of reviewers.

Keep writing.

------ Eagle Cruagh

[Rachelle]

This was an extremely enticing story. I love the 1984 guy, because it reminds me of reading that book for an assignment. Well written, I like it.

[vampireprincess]

I liked a lot its so depressing and yet it reminds me of a movie called anger mangement with my favorite actor adam sandler

[alternative_be]

I have read this story because the title got me attracted to it. Since all the spelling mistakes have been pointed out to you before, I'll stick by the content, which is the most important element of a story. This story carrries, in my view, a very important message: stay away of self help groups!
Even if you just would want to observe, like Ethan in the story, you will leave the room with a problem, whether you had one or not! Laughing out loud, this story reminded me of what a colleague of mine once said:'When too much attention is drawn to a problem, the very problem is likely to occur many times more than when things had been left the way they are.' Just like Ethan, even though he is convinced he has no problem, after the meeting he starts adjusting his behaviour in a way that creates a problem for him!
I hope you were not Ethan!
Take care!

[The Archangel Gabriel]

This was great. That wasn't quite what I expected out of you, but I am liking it. If you keep up your sense of humor, you can drown your mid-life crisis in 18 year old women. Why have have a midlife crisis? I just did not grow past 18!

Pleasure meeting you. Keep up the good work!

-Gabe

[Tessa]

"Like when I drive passed a protest . . . I just . . . I just want to get into it man . . . just bring down the man" haha. Great character. Oh and please write the love story about the two elephants, it might turn out to be a masterpiece...

[Nicole Hellene]

Hey can I be stuck in Ancient Greece? I want to be a Spartan Warrior like in 300! Or screw that, I want to be an Amazon! Xena!!!!

[Francis Meyrick]

Did you ever finish the love story between the two elephants...?

Great read. I guess I'm stuck in my midlife crisis. I'll be along...

[Kari [io]]

this was awesome, i really liked the closing paragraph, and i loved leon. you use humor very well!