I gave Meghan Sampson something to ponder during one of her lunch shifts at Poncho and Lefty's - beyond her trying to grasp how one man could eat that many chips and salsa in one sitting.
What I did was simply ask the 19-year-old recent Monroe High School graduate what era she's from. I mean here we are, halfway through the current decade, but do we have a name for those coming of age in the 2010s?
"You know what, we really don't have a legitimate label, do we?" Sampson asked. "Does that mean we are not important?"
Had I asked my father that question when I was your age, he would have answered: "It sure does. Now turn that crap down."
But today we'll not only believe in your generation - like we have a choice, God help us - we'll help you come up with a name (or a "handle" for those of you who, like me, owned a CB radio in the 1970s. Mine was "Station Wagon Warrior.")
OK, Monroe, where do we start? It would be easy to go back a century to see what they labeled the 1910s, but no one of course is still around. And the history books don't offer anything to go on - other than the fact America was participating in World War I. I never read it was known as the "'10s."
But after that, each decade not only got big mileage out of something as simple as its number, with it came indelible images synonymous with each:
The Roaring '20s and the secret speakeasy, the soup-line Depression of the '30s, the War World II years of the '40s, the Baby Boomer malt-shop bliss of Elvis' '50s, the social change and unrest of the Beatles' '60s, the protesting bell-bottom hippies of the Watergate '70s, the huge-hair gag-me-with-a-spoon self-indulgence of the '80s, the emergence of rap and the bull market of the Clinton scandalous '90s.
The 2000s had the turn of the century going for it, so plenty of names emerged: Generation X, the Y2Ks, the Millenniums or, as I preferred, the Big Zeros.
I turned 18 in 1982, so I am a product of the '80s. And everyone, between dry heaves, can identify with that: The yuppies, the Reagan-inspired Young Republicans, synthesizer-driven music and cheesy designer clothes.
Yes, for a short period of time I did walk around with my Izod shirt collar turned up while donning Wayfarers on a string. And no, under no circumstances can I explain Milli Vanilli.
Meanwhile, Nadine Brown, the restaurant's co-owner, couldn't help but chime in. She is my age, so off we went on an '80s Flashback Friday for the ages. And it was then, while I was eating mind you, that she admitted to once having short-spiked purple hair. It's an image that could make even Prince blush.
Truth is, Nadine Brown is a rock star in her own right - did you know that she and her husband, Russ, were the personal assistants to Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner? And they are confident the power couple will be visiting their downtown restaurant in the near future. So be on the lookout.
Anyway, back to Ms. Sampson's dilemma.
Any thoughts, Meghan?
"The Teens?" she said. No, too teeny bopper. "Generation XY?" Too alphabetical.
"The Hipsters? The New Age Generation? The Techies?"
All decent suggestions, but are they truly a snapshot of who you youngsters are?
All I can tell you is I'm from a generation of self, so maybe you are too. And with that, welcome to your new name: The Selfies.
- John Morton formerly covered the city beat for The Monroe Times. He has left his position with the Times, and this is his final column.
What I did was simply ask the 19-year-old recent Monroe High School graduate what era she's from. I mean here we are, halfway through the current decade, but do we have a name for those coming of age in the 2010s?
"You know what, we really don't have a legitimate label, do we?" Sampson asked. "Does that mean we are not important?"
Had I asked my father that question when I was your age, he would have answered: "It sure does. Now turn that crap down."
But today we'll not only believe in your generation - like we have a choice, God help us - we'll help you come up with a name (or a "handle" for those of you who, like me, owned a CB radio in the 1970s. Mine was "Station Wagon Warrior.")
OK, Monroe, where do we start? It would be easy to go back a century to see what they labeled the 1910s, but no one of course is still around. And the history books don't offer anything to go on - other than the fact America was participating in World War I. I never read it was known as the "'10s."
But after that, each decade not only got big mileage out of something as simple as its number, with it came indelible images synonymous with each:
The Roaring '20s and the secret speakeasy, the soup-line Depression of the '30s, the War World II years of the '40s, the Baby Boomer malt-shop bliss of Elvis' '50s, the social change and unrest of the Beatles' '60s, the protesting bell-bottom hippies of the Watergate '70s, the huge-hair gag-me-with-a-spoon self-indulgence of the '80s, the emergence of rap and the bull market of the Clinton scandalous '90s.
The 2000s had the turn of the century going for it, so plenty of names emerged: Generation X, the Y2Ks, the Millenniums or, as I preferred, the Big Zeros.
I turned 18 in 1982, so I am a product of the '80s. And everyone, between dry heaves, can identify with that: The yuppies, the Reagan-inspired Young Republicans, synthesizer-driven music and cheesy designer clothes.
Yes, for a short period of time I did walk around with my Izod shirt collar turned up while donning Wayfarers on a string. And no, under no circumstances can I explain Milli Vanilli.
Meanwhile, Nadine Brown, the restaurant's co-owner, couldn't help but chime in. She is my age, so off we went on an '80s Flashback Friday for the ages. And it was then, while I was eating mind you, that she admitted to once having short-spiked purple hair. It's an image that could make even Prince blush.
Truth is, Nadine Brown is a rock star in her own right - did you know that she and her husband, Russ, were the personal assistants to Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner? And they are confident the power couple will be visiting their downtown restaurant in the near future. So be on the lookout.
Anyway, back to Ms. Sampson's dilemma.
Any thoughts, Meghan?
"The Teens?" she said. No, too teeny bopper. "Generation XY?" Too alphabetical.
"The Hipsters? The New Age Generation? The Techies?"
All decent suggestions, but are they truly a snapshot of who you youngsters are?
All I can tell you is I'm from a generation of self, so maybe you are too. And with that, welcome to your new name: The Selfies.
- John Morton formerly covered the city beat for The Monroe Times. He has left his position with the Times, and this is his final column.