Gen Y

• Chloe Salter, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2011

I get slightly frustrated as I buy a train ticket from the bored man at the booth. His face is in his palm, his eyes droopy, and there is no trace of a smile. He is not very helpful, he seems to be the type of person that gets easily irritated when customers get confused. How was I supposed to know that I needed a zone one and two ticket? My hearing has diminished a bit, but that doesn't mean I need to be spoken to like a three year old. I understand English. The man doesn't even wish me a good day.
As I stand on the platform surrounded by thick, polluted air, I study a young, teenage girl standing not too far away from myself. Her face is covered in piercings, her shorts are so short they look like denim underwear and her top looks like she's got the kitchen scissors and chopped off the bottom half so her pierced navel is showing. She is on the phone having a heated discussing with who seems to be and ex-boyfriend, swearing her head off for all to hear, including younger children. Her other hand is occupied with a cigarette. I cannot believe the youth of today. No young girl would have ever dressed like that back in my time. I wonder what her parents think. I wonder how they allow this?
She catches my eye and she yells at me.
"What are ya looking at ya creep?"
Wow, they are really that bad. I quickly look away, not wanting to cause a scene. I am more worried about their English skills than the insult. But really, where has the discipline and the respect gone? It seems to have been completely drained from today's society. I was brought up to respect my elders, not yell at them. I feel slightly disgusted.
As I step onto the train, I realise that girl is not the only juvenile delinquent. She actually fits in with the rest of the girls on this train. The boys are just as bad too. Their pants are so low that their jocks are clearly visible and every second one of them had an arm covered in hideous ink patterns. A group of boys were wolf whistling at a group of girls. I can't help but think how disrespectful to treat them like sexual objects, but at the same time these girls are asking for it.
I felt so out of place without a cigarette or talking in fluent swear words. Holding my Essendon scarf, i sink back into my seat. I don't think I have ever felt so alone in such a big sea of people. I look around at the generation we have created and can't help to feel let down. I feel like we've failed at raising them.
I am 83 years old with a lifetime of stories, yet I feel so insignificant and almost like a child amongst this mass of teenagers.