Coffeeshop talk is when clusters of uncles and aunties, in their “go downstairs” clothes, meet over teh-si-kosong to natter away the latest news.
“I tell you, to me, the three who ran for president are like the Maxwell Food Centre best chicken rice stalls.
I like the chicken in one, the rice in another, and the chilli ginger black sauce in the other.”
I like the chicken in one, the rice in another, and the chilli ginger black sauce in the other.”
(The core, the staple, the edge?)
Water cooler chat is when millennials in suits and corporate dress, or sloppy joes if in the media industry, discuss and debate the latest episode of some Korean TV series they watched last night.
“So emo, but she slayed it!”
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And ne’er the twain shall meet…of course we do. (Being the oldest teenager in town I’m blessed to have a foot in each terrain.)
But cool it, buddy, mind your language when you decide I must be “old”.
For “elderly” go with “older”.
Lose the “over the hill” and “act your age”, and use instead “you have a lot of experience” and “you enjoy what you love”.
And of course the winner, “You look great!” not “You look good for your age”.
See how easy it is, you thick thing.
In general, people hardly listen to how they talk to and with each other.
As the world spins more woke, more ageist, and far more careless, comes the time to bite your tongue before you engage it. Especially if you hope to have a convo with me.
First, do not talk s l o w l y to me.
We are losing daylight here, kid, so out with it.
Remember, if you speak how a snail moves in front of me, I carry a big stick and will chase you with it. Knees permitting that day, of course.
Famously, never rush over your words, “Aiyah, come, I do for you better.”
Nada, nyet, no ! It cannot be better, for you to take the device out of my weathered hand, and “do for you”.
Because. Because I want to learn how to manage it, on my own, when you’re hours away at Starbucks chillin’.
And I can’t sleep at the price you’re paying for coffee.
So, instead, maybe something like, “Let me show you an easy, faster way to do it.”
A sweet not-so-young thing, zeroed in on me at some event, only to spill, “My mother said you were her classmate!”
Girl, I got double double promotion okay and was your mother a stayback student?
If there is a next time, try and go with “I cannot believe you were my mother’s classmate, you look too young to be her age!”
And truly refrain from ever denigrating the music and songs I sing and, weather permitting (rainy rheumatism), dance to.
“So cringe, Aunty Syl, the stuff you guys listen to. Must be 100 years old!”
Here’s the thing you dense and doofus Swifties.
Do you think four unsexy skinny Blinks who can’t really sing can best Diana Ross and The Supremes?
On another note, even ex-Directioner Harry Styles has got game.
His latest single, As It Was, has the line: You know it’s not the same as it was…
(I’m afraid, on this score, there is no other way you can rephrase it.)
Quick, late already, you’re still not changed, one of the youngsters in the house said to me.
Er, love me, love my style.
Yes, but your retro and your gothic combo unintentional right?
It’s only Barbie, what does the silly girl know about fashion.
(It’s payback for when we used to stop them at the door with “You are not going to go out like that, surely?”)
Sure, be rude and impatient about our tech wizardy, our dress sense, our choice of music.
Flaming youth is entitled to be so bold, so unthinking. I know I once was, pre-antediluvian.
But lest it be forgot, you got it from us, in the first place, heh-heh.
And you’re next up, in line to be Young Seniors.
Or, as I’d call ’em, YS (as in wise ass).
