So, let me get this straight…
You just graduated college last year, and you are already making an $80,000 salary, plus a stock option bonus? You are living by yourself in a killer Hayes Valley apartment? And you are still young enough to miraculously never experience hangovers?
You brat! You already piss me off.
Wait — you didn’t even graduate from college? You dropped out after two years, because you were making $110/hour on the weekends as a designer, and you realized that a Sociology degree from Ohio State was a less valuable use of your time?
What an obnoxious punk you are!
How dare you make an income based off an objective skillset that fulfills real world demand for your services! This is America. Where do you think you are?
You are 20 years old! That is not how this is supposed to work! This is how the system is supposed to function:
You are supposed to enter college as an aimless dreamer. You are supposed to incur $122,000 in debt, while a bunch of middle-aged professors help you discover who you are. I don’t care if your passion is for designing interfaces — you have not gone through the self-discovery process yet! You only think that you know what you want in life. And, while at college, you are supposed to party as cheaply as possible, pretend you are not getting help from your parents, and work some sort of menial $8/hour job on campus in the gym or at the bookstore.
Then, when you graduate, you are supposed to get a job at the bottom of some corporate totem pole, earning peanuts, while praying that your arbitrary performance review can get you a 4 percent raise and a good recommendation for business school. Or law school. Or one of those “I hate my life, I am going to switch gears by getting an MFA” schools.
That is how things worked back in my day… You annoying, bratty punks just don’t get it.
By making a high wage at a young age, you are pushing real and honest San Franciscans out of the housing market. Sure, you make less money than some electricians or restaurant managers, but those guys have families to support, and they pay attention to their savings and retirement.
So, when you recklessly spend $3,400/month on your apartment, it is crowding out the people who are far more thoughtful about their finances. People with real responsibilities. People with families.
Did you know that those guys had two kids when they were your age? That is how things are supposed to work. Who do you think you are being unmarried for most of your 20s? No kids until you and your future wife have been married for five years? Is that a joke? What the hell is wrong with you?
The world needs more human beings — immediately! — get to work, you lazy scum.
How dare you try to have fun at a young age, or enjoy the benefits of early success? Don’t you know where this story is heading? Don’t you know how this will ultimately play out… well, let me enlighten you:
When you are 84 years old, counting down the weeks until Election Day, watching Jeopardy like it’s your job, and unable to piss in under nine minutes, you will shake your fist at the heavens and scream out in repentant agony…
“WHY DIDN’T I SPEND MY 20s LIVING PRUDENTLY WITHIN MY MEANS, HAVING ZERO FUN, NEVER TRAVELING, AND IGNORING MY DREAM ENTIRELY!?”
That is what you will wish you had done.
Because old people always look back at their lives and wish that they had fewer fun experiences. They wish that they had embraced an ascetic and prudent life during their peak physical years.
You will too, just wait.
If you were smart, you would live in Petaluma — where rent is much cheaper than San Francisco — and you would drive 90 minutes to the office in Soma each day. That would make it difficult to have a social life, sure, but you would absolutely save cash. More importantly, it would allow a real San Franciscan to have the apartment for which you have so selfishly paid a fair market rate.
That’s what a smart young person would do.
But, no. Not you. Not you, Mr. Spoiled Techie Brat.
You just insist upon working. You insist upon following your passion. You insist upon moving from the Midwestern town in which you were born — and in which it was your fate to remain — and seek out greener pastures in San Francisco.
Could you be any more selfish?
You were born in the suburbs of Cincinnati, Ohio — who the hell gave you the idea that you had the right to move to San Francisco? And displace real San Franciscans?
What’s next, are you going to support fair treatment for the millions of immigrants who seek a better life in our country? They were born in Eastern Europe and Latin America, how dare they come to the United States and market their skills against real Americans?
Your great-grandparents are rolling in their graves, you self-entitled little prick.
But here is what really pisses me off about smug little jerks like you… You just don’t know your place. You are only 20 years old. I am in my 30s. Therefore, you are supposed to worship me. And defer to me. And do what I tell you to do.
In the good old days, I would be the mid-manager at General Electric, and you would be my little puke-faced intern, and you would do exactly what I told you to do. I would make you fetch my coffee, and do the intellectual grunt work and data entry that is far too boring for a person as old as me. Then, I would leave early, while you stay late, and man your cubicle for the sake of face-time.
That is the system that we used to know and love.
Now, because your youth and skillset enabled you to take on disproportionate risk, while I was bogged down trying to feed my family, you think that the system can turn on its head. You think that 20-somethings can be CEO’s, while people like me oversee your three-person Accounts Receivable department.
Well, screw you.
I’m going to the nearest Ace Hardware to buy a few bricks. We’ll see how you feel when those bricks take out one of your office windows. Then you will know who’s boss.
And screw your Friday afternoon beer pong tournament — I destroyed my transcript and spent an extra year at UC Santa Barbara trying to master my beer pong game… the chicks thought I was awesome back then. How dare you enjoy this wonderful pastime from the plush confines of your Townsend Street office, while simultaneously building a venture-backed company! You want to work hard while playing hard? That’s an outrage!
San Francisco belongs to me. Not you. It’s mine.
My dad was born here. Not yours. I’m the one who spent three summers working at Jamba Juice on Kearny Street. Not you. I’m the guy who is gonna have to drive to Santa Clara nine times each year to watch the 49ers. Not you.
You ungrateful, lazy, self-entitled, xenophobic, naïve, bitter young punk. Know your damn place!
(Also, can I have a raise?)
[Update: Entrepreneur Jason Calacanis responds to Bryan Goldberg here.]