What is it about the teenage superpower of making anyone around them who isn’t a teen feel like the most insignificant piece of shit on the planet? While, sure, part of this highly specific ability stems from a projection of their own inner, underlying perception of themselves, it does little to console one when trapped in the horrific clutches of this demoralizing superpower. Worse still, the additional strengths of that superpower rendering you weak enough to actually try even harder to feel accepted by the teenager in question. To, in some way, feel “embraced.” Like you’ve been thrown a proverbial bone. That you’re not an obsolete geriatric with no “finger on the pulse” whatsoever because you yourself barely have one. Naturally, by trying “too hard,” you only paint yourself further into a corner of uncoolness. Of being unshakably “cringe.” That far too overused word which suddenly seemed to apply to everything and every behavior enacted by the over-twenty-five set.

It had never been Lara’s intention to come into any heavy contact with a teenager, let alone so many of them. Unfortunately, the universe had seen fit to force her into the only line of work that was hiring without prejudice or discernment: education. She didn’t have any experience, of course—but that didn’t matter to the Ponderosa Unified School District. They were as desperately in need of employees as Lara was of money. So there wasn’t much of a “screening process” to be accepted by the school. Though there was, she learned much too late, an ongoing and intensive one to be accepted by her teenage students. And she was starting to realize she never would be.

Something about going to that high school every day was making her have newfound sympathy for LouAnne Johnson. Needless to say, the version of her played by Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds. Except the kids in that movie seemed like a fucking cakewalk compared to what Lara had to deal with on a daily basis—most notably the constant critiques about her appearance. At least the Gen Xers of Clueless only talked shit about Miss Geist’s style behind her back instead of right to her face.

A few times, Lara tried to go to HR to report what was going on, but all that the “woman in charge” did was offer her some pamphlets about how to cope with bullying. On a side note, the school district would hire basically anyone who was breathing for an HR role, too. So Lara didn’t know why she was surprised that she didn’t exactly have much in the way of support. Least of all support of the competent, actionable variety. Not even the principal appeared to care much about the emotional toll that the job was taking on “Miss Fart,” as they called her. The oh so original play on her last name: Hart.

Each day, they did everything in their power to make her feel as dowdy and disgusting as possible. Like she was too hideous and wrong to even exist on this Earth (even though, in fact, those qualities actually seemed like a prerequisite for existence on this Earth). Other teachers who had been at it for longer tried to console her by telling her that she would get “used to it” after a while. That, eventually, the phrase “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” would start to more readily apply to her way of existence. Obviously, they didn’t know her. And, obviously, they had long ago given up on the idea of themselves as being “still young.” Lara hadn’t, and she didn’t think she ever would.

But it was getting harder and harder to see herself as she wanted to with these Gen Z cunts constantly ripping her a new asshole every day. Whether it was her clothes or the way she wore her hair or, hell, even her socks, they were indefatigable in terms of what they might arbitrarily attack her for in the midst of her attempts to teach them about U.S. history. She wanted to tell them that, one day, their generation would probably end up in the “books” (whatever form books might have in the future) as “the worst.” The first generation to be composed entirely of sociopaths. But if she said that out loud to them, it would probably only get them off—the closest thing to orgasm they had being schadenfreude.

At night, she went home and watched episodes of My So-Called Life and Dawson’s Creek, yearning for the days when teenagers were supposed to be this complex and nuanced. This highly sensitive—but not in the way where everything was offensive and “cancellable.” Where the hell was that highly sensitive trope now? She also vowed never to make mention of these shows to her students because 1) they did not deserve to know about them and 2) they wouldn’t even fucking appreciate them if they did, finding a way to taint, mock and meme-ify each series in some ghastly TikTok form.

Lara did her best to “stay the course” and get through an entire year. She didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing that they had broken her. Stamped out her will, self-esteem and all resolve to have something like a “plucky” attitude. But she couldn’t make it through that full year, instead bowing out at the end of one semester. The moment she left, she felt younger already, with no teenage asshole to ridicule her and make her feel terminally uncool.

That sense of youth was perhaps further aided by the fact that the only other replacement job she could find (for the moment, she told herself) was working as a barista at Starbucks. But she was very geographically specific about it, making sure to choose a location that none of her former students would ever go to. Instead, it was one that just so happened to be right near a retirement community. Thus, most of the clientele would never go out of the way to make Lara feel old and irrelevant in the manner that her merciless ex-students did. Wielding their teenage superpower for nothing but evil.