Those of the eighties
An Olaerts in Vacature:
Those of the eighties can text with two thumbs simultaneously. And that says it all. Those of the eighties have never sprained an ankle on a loloball. They've never freed princesses from the arms of Donkey Kong. They confuse Chevignon with warm cheese. Sue Ellen sounds like a brand of tampons to them. They couldn't go to sports camp because the sports forest was full of sexual predators. Instead they went to ski camp because there are no rushing bushes in the mountains. They've never heard of the loco-box. They collected pictures of the Power Rangers, even though now they act as if Kurt Cobain is the flag that covers their load. Let 'm do, those of the eighties. They're certainly not an asset to the labour market.
Those of the eighties pasted their thesis together or are doing so. They have internet. While surfing, they are so isolated they believe they're the only ones that use Google. They copy/paste without shame and don't need money to save for a CD. Those of the eighties take it all from the net. Copied copies of copies of exam questions are gone. The questions and answers can now be found on the forum of the student organization. They even all have a cell by the way. They MSN before going out.
Big fucking deal, those of the eighties say. They don't care they're rotten spoiled. And bosses can keep complaining that they can't find anyone. That all they get are resumes with typos and lies. That those of the eighties sometimes even forget to copy/paste the name of the company in their letters. Sometimes they don't even send anything and simply mail their cellphone number to the HR-manager. And when they come for an interview, those of the eighties, they want it all on the spot: a company car, a MacBook and 2000 euros net. Furthermore they'll negotiate group insurances, sliding working hours that can slide no further than six o'clock and they'll insist on four weeks of vacation in june, so they can go to Laos outside of the season. Next to that their job has to be variating. Those of the eighties want space for creativity and independence, but without the stress or insecurity. Otherwise they'll text their friends during the interview: "Yuck, this job is nothing for me. That bitch from HR has a greasy head anyway. Up your ass. I'm out of here." And than those of the seventies are shocked!