MEMO

To: Everyone
From: Jon

Re: STOP PRETENDING THAT BEING A GEEK MAKES YOU UNIQUE

Dearest everyone,

You may have noticed that it is not 1987. Every person you know owns at least one computer, and more often than not, a game console and a smart phone. At the risk of sounding like some kind of decades-old training film: technology is all around you. Gone are the days of the lonely little geek, and they've been gone for longer than most dogs live.

Not to ruin this carefully crafted identity that you clearly spent tens of hours crafting with wikipedia searches, but you've missed the boat. The central point to being a geek is that you were an outcast; that no one understood your weird interests and perhaps were a little threatened by your intelligence.

I shouldn't have to tell you, but apparently it bears mentioning that this is no longer the case. This particular Rubicon was crossed AGES ago. Obscure comic books are regularly made into big-budget action films. It's been more than 10 years since Time's 'Man of the Year' was the founder of Amazon.com. The age of the geek has come and gone, and now the things many of you still cling to as "geeky" are so mainstream, they put mainstream things to shame.

Don't believe me? Next time you're in a crowded room, casually mention that you like Star Wars. You might get a few grunts of approval, or an unwanted conversation if there's a particularly fierce fan in the immediate area. Next, go into a room and say "I've never seen any of the Star Wars movies" and soak in the gasps of disbelief.

You are no longer the minority. Frankly, I'm not sure I believe you ever were, just coasting along quietly, sometimes taking part in the teasing, not jumping on the "I'M A GEEK AND I'M PROUD" train until it was safe to come out because all the bullies traded their letterman jackets for Weezer t-shirts and Mac Book Pros once movies taught them that girls go for the sensitive types.

In summation: stop talking about what a geek you are. At best, it's offputting that you feel the overwhelming need to constantly quantify your role in your social circle, and at worst, it's a bald-faced lie. To borrow another identifier from a time long past: you're a poseur, and it's sad. Just act like yourself and stop trying so hard. People will like you better when you're a person and not a checklist of things.

Sincerely,

The Mgmt.

You can probably ease up with the smarm: you aren't fooling anyone.

You can call yourself a "freelancer" or "self-employed" all you want, everyone you pitch your little mission statement to is fully aware: you're just unemployed and are ashamed to admit it. Frankly, I don't blame you. You're an adult and you should have a job. A real job, not an Etsy shop where you sell hand-knit bicycle handlebar covers. I'm sorry if you've made it clear to your mid-twenties without anyone telling you that sometimes work isn't super-duper fun. It's work. Suck it up–everyone else does.

As for your "innovative" little projects, guess what: that's not a business. It's a hobby that you talk about WAY more than anyone cares to hear about it. You're like that person that goes on and on about their baby, except instead of actually raising a baby, you have a half-completed dress in your closet that you've worked on for a maximum of four hours for every forty hours spent talking about your hip new clothing company.

Here's a tip: For thousands of years, companies gained and maintained large and positive client bases by providing a unique or superior service or product at a competitive price. The only people in history that based their business plan on talking and allowing the product to take a back seat were snake oil salesmen, con men and religious leaders. Make something worthwhile, or shut the fuck up.

Oh yeah, and we're all tired of you asking us for favors and offering to pay in some nebulous service. Wampum doesn't pay my rent, hippy.

Llamas. Sure, everyone thinks they're like funny, lovable sheep from Argentina or wherever the hell they're from, but I know better. They're spiteful, petty little bastards. And they are my life-long, mortal enemies.

After 10 years of reasonably reliable service from Verizon, I decided to make the jump to Comcast to try out what everyone's always complaining about. A mere year and a half later, I understand all too well why everyone bitches like an 11 year old girl whose brother just cut off all her Barbie's hair.