Right before busy season, my firm always hires about 12 interns to do basic data entry and other low-level audit and tax stuff. My boss loves using interns because they’re cheap, and my auditor counterpart and I love interns because they’re usually much closer to our age than the other full-time staff, who are generally middle-aged. And since we won’t have much of a social life for the next 3 months or so, it’s nice to know there will be at least a couple of people in the break room who don’t just want to talk about their kids’ soccer games and their spouses’ health problems.
So I’m helping this new intern with some fixed asset stuff today, and we’re kind of chatting in between his questions, and he looks at the facility list of this client and points to a hotel they own and says,
“Oh! That’s where my prom was.”
To which I laughingly reply that I don’t even remember where my prom was held, it feels like it was so long ago.
To which he laughingly replies that he’d be pretty worried if he couldn’t remember something from a year and half ago.
To which I…WAIT. WHAT?
“How old are you?”
Holy fucking shit, you guys. I didn’t even realize that being 19 was something people even did anymore. I thought that shit went out of fashion along with Dick Cheney jokes waaaaaaaay back in ’07. But apparently it’s experiencing some sort of vintage revival among people who were born in nineteen-ninety…wait for it…FOUR, Jesus H.
And here I am just talking to this guy like he’s a normal dude, like it’s no big deal, like he wasn’t four fucking years old when Ken Starr jokes were in fashion.
I’ve pretty much been the youngest person in the room ever since I started working full-time at 18. Even when I went back to school, I took night classes, so I was almost always a good 5 years younger than any of the other students. So this is kind of a weird thing to adjust to.