I had quite a crazy day today. Between paramedics and making old women cry, there wasn’t a dull moment!

As I approach my upcoming 20th birthday (April 8th- send gifts), I find myself in a weird place. I could practically burst into Britney Spears songs, that’s the place I am, between girl and “woman?” Woman is a weird word for me. So, let’s not use it. I am forever a girl. Don’t you forget.

So, today, I went off at my break to go chow down on something with more fat than something really really fat (i.e. my thighs), and what am I greeted with? A man, bleeding, on the sidewalk, paramedics, store managers and whom I assume to be his wife crowded near by. Squeemish type that I am, my first instinct is to throw up. My second is to run around screaming. I am shocked to see this man’s wife doing neither of those things, but rather calmly standing, speaking with a lady near by, watching the scene as if nothing was going on.

I hear talk of a “generation gap.” They’ve always existed. It’s merely where culture and society separates our elders from the younger gen. Was this the gap, before my very eyes? This sense of calm, pressed closely to the seemingly never-ending chaos of my world? I pondered this as I sat down with my oh so fattening breakfast a few minutes later. I am deep in thought, when I here a voice from another table:

“Oh, what was her name? The one with the two kids? She’s crazy? She’s a teeny popstar?”

I realize with a jolt that they are talking about Britney Spears. How could they not know who she is? Their conversation continued on as they struggled to gossip about other celebrities, never quite coming up with the proper name, although I am able to identify the subject upon the first comment made. Generation gap? Most definitely.

Still pondering these things, as I do, I return to work. I am putting away juice, when an older lady comes up to me. I guess her age to be around 80, and this is confirmed as our conversation progresses. And, boy, does it progress. It seems as if she has a thought about everything, and she’s going to tell me each one. She tells me about how angry she is that none of our juice comes from Canada (”We have perfectly good orchards here, and it’s all from those bastard Americans.”), and when I show her a juice that is from Canada, she looks at it, sees “Quebec,” and is off about separatists! I say, “I lived in Quebec for a few months, and it was lovely. I never met any-” “NO! SOVEREIGNISTS! ALL OF THEM!! DON’T TRY AND TELL ME OTHERWISE!” She talks about her son-in-law (”that asshole”) and her daughter’s knee-injury. About her grandson, who has special needs was hit by a truck at some point. It’s not long before I know practically her whole life story. Some things she says are funny, and keep us in stitches. Some confuse me, and I smile along, not entirely sure what to say. For example, she was terrified of the high schoolers who filtered into the store for their lunch break. She makes snide remarks about their hair, and clothes, but refuses to go near them on her own. I remind her that I am only two years older than them, and she replies with “Oh, but you’re a nice girl.” Okay! I am pleased with her views involving the Conservatives (”shit heads.”) and war (“Let’s send Harper and all those other bastards over there and see how they like it!”). These comments intrigue me, and I feel the generation gap shift a bit.

We are in a full-blown conversation about war and political states when I make my fatal mistake. She tells me, “cherish democracy, because you never know when it will go away…” and I continue, excitedly, Social Studies nerd that I am, with, “Yes! I mean, we have to be careful with fear, I’m sure Germany never—” But I am cut off. I am cut off as she burst into tears, sobbing ever so desperately, and yells “DON’T YOU SAY A WORD TO ME ABOUT GERMANY! THEY KILLED MY BROTHER!!”

I stand there and, as anyone in my position would do, feel awkward. I don’t know what to say, but luckily, she continues on, and says “Some people say “forgive and forget.” NO. I will not forgive those bastards that killed my brother. I will not forget.” Like nothing happened, she returns to pondering her shopping basket, and decides that she probably has everything she needs. Unable to carry the basket, she kicks it along and after a few steps, I snap out of it, and pick it up for her, to take to the cashier. She says good-bye to me, “It’s been a pleasure.” And I check the clock to see that over an hour has passed since she first started exclaiming over the lack of Canadian juice.

I’m still not sure about the generation gap. Has everything I learned today lessened it? In a way, I feel even more disconnected from this lady, even though I now know a large chunk of her life story. What do you think?

Of course, the weirdness couldn’t end there. My iPod just HAD to blast “Generation,” by Simple Plan the second I stepped out of work!

I’m sick of all this waiting
And people telling me what I should be
What if I’m not so crazy
Maybe you’re the one that’s wrong, not me
So what you gonna do, what you gonna say
When we’re standing on top and do it our way
You say we got no future
You’re living in the past
So listen up, that’s my generation