Generation X

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I’m surprised that Generation X isn’t better at lockdown.

We were the first generation to have portable TVs in our bedrooms, we spent hours in isolation listening to our mixed tapes on Walkman’s, and we lost days watching music videos on MTV.  The most symbolic film of our generation was “The Breakfast Club” which was about five high school students who had their privileges removed one Saturday and had to live with the consequences of restrictions.  The five people were:  a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess, and a criminal.

Despite the training, we remain surprised that a pandemic comes with negative effects.

It’s like we are standing at the foot of an erupting volcano trying to decide where to go for dinner.  We are surprised that our favourite tapas restaurant is closed, and we can’t understand why the bar isn’t open.  There’s ash, lava and magma flying around our faces and we can barely breathe through the toxic atmosphere, yet our only concern is the lack of taxis. 

“It’s really very tiresome” we say to one another in-between coughing, “all this fuss about a volcano!  Many of the villagers were going to die anyway, I don’t know why they’ve evacuated.  It’s very boring isn’t it?  Not at all what I’d imagined it would be like”.

I was very excited when MTV came to onto our screens.

Prior to this, we gained our music knowledge from a weekly 30-minute programme called “Top of the Pops”.  We would wait all week to find out who was number one, and if they would play live in the studio or present the music video instead.  The music videos were so terrific that we would record them onto our Betamax or VHS tapes to watch over and over again.

Households didn’t have an infinite supply of blank video tapes, so people shared them between family members.  One time, my dad taped over Madonna’s “Crazy for You” video and I was so upset I cried.  I hadn’t written DO NOT TAPE OVER on the side of the blank tape, so he recorded a film right over it.  I honestly believed that I might never get another chance to see this music video again, and I was spiteful and mean about it.

At least, I think that’s what happened. 

It’s possible that this happened to a friend of mine, and I’ve imported it into my memory bank by mistake. Someone said recently that blueberries were good for memories, but I can’t remember who, and I don’t know if it’s the shadows of peri-menopause, or the pandemic causing the memory hiccups, or a little bit of both.

I wonder what our pandemic memories will be like.

I wonder when it’s going to be a memory, when it’s going to be all over, and when it’s going to go away.  Make it go away, we plead, make it all better soon.

I’m tired of hanging out in my home like a three-toed sloth, and I’m not sure how much more sugar and Netflix I can consume.  I’ve been wearing the same three pairs of leggings for 12 months, and my memory is fucked, and I’m tired.  I know every inch of my 50 square metre work-life unit, and every step of my 5 km radius.  I know every smell from my building, and every sound my neighbours make.

I want it to be over, and yet not too quickly.

No matter where your personal opinions fall, you have to agree that one of the reasons we’re in Lockdown 3, is because we exited Lockdowns 2 and 1 too quickly.  Other reasons include the commodification of health, education, and housing alongside neo-liberal capitalism, and the paternalization of leadership, but hey, it’s Friday, so let’s not get into that.  I just worry that if we come out of the haze too quickly once more, we might find ourselves back here in September.

The one thing we were asked to do, in order to save countless lives, was stay at home. 

That was it. 

Sit on our backsides and wait.

No marathons, cake sales, walks across the Sahara or jumps off the Eiffel Tower, just sit on our sofas and wait. 

Perhaps it would help our little child brains if we changed the wording.  The term “lockdown” stinks of negative punishment, so can I suggest we re-brand it with a more positive sounding reward for our two-year old mentalities?

How about “show some cuddly camaraderie with your cousins in company!” instead?

No? 

OK, leave it with me and I’ll come up with something better next week.

Can you imagine how we’ll cope in a few years’ time with the restrictions promised by the climate crisis?  We’ll be up to our necks in sea water complaining because our Pilates class was cancelled.

“It’s so very tiresome” we’ll say to one another while treading water “I don’t know why the class can’t go ahead as planned?  I have my snorkel here and my flippers so I’m all set!  I don’t understand what all the fuss is about!”  There’ll be seals and whales passing us by on the outside, but we’ll be shaking our heads and saying “fuss about nonsense” under our salty, sea-water breath.

Previous generations called X the Me Generation because we were selfish, uncaring and wrapped up with our quest for individual fulfilment and reward.  The boomers claimed we were incapable of showing empathy towards others, and said we’d never put the safety of the many, over the comfort of the few.  Seriously though, what on earth did they expect from us:  a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess and a criminal? 

What did they expect?