I've learned when you're in your early and God forbid mid 20s (yes, that's right, I'm nearly in my mid 20s sooooo old!) that there is an interesting balance to the world.
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You are either thought to be an adult, with large amounts of responsibility, like mortgages, car payments, student loans, insurance, and actually having to do stuff, like really clean, because the house elves, aka parents, are no longer in service.
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Then you have the world thinking you are to young to be unaccompanied for any length of time. That you are to young, or don't have enough experience, or just seen as a child, because that's the only thing some adults know you as.
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And then those two worlds collide. The world that expects you to pay your monthly rent on time, is now demanding why you're parents aren't there to watch you.
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Interesting, isn't it? How half the world expects you to be an adult, and the other part, is like: No, you're not old enough yet.
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I was working out the other day, at the apartment complex fitness center. I was walking on the treadmill backwards, trying to loosen muscles, and work on my nonexistent agility. Things were going well, I had control of the remote, and I'm closing in on the end of my workout, so I could go home and take a shower.
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"Where are your parents?" An employee of the apartment complex asked.
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There were two young children in the room playing with medicine balls and other equipment, Yeah, where are your parents? I thought to myself trying to find adults that would take responsibility of children who were messing around some heavy equipment.
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"Excuse me, I asked you where are your parents?!" The lady demanded. That's when I noticed she was looking at me.
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Umm, what? Okay, I know that I act more like a five-year-old, than a 24-year-old majority of the time, but seriously? I at least look the part of an adult! (76 percent of the time)
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This is beyond weird for many reasons. One, this lady sees me quite often in the main office picking up packages. Two, I do not look like I am 12.
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"Umm" I stammer, trying to figure out if she is for real. The lady was certainly for real. She stared at me, in a pose that can only be described as Vegas Bouncer.
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"I'm twenty-four," I told her. "I live in T207 with my husband." (Please send cookies) I wanted to tell her my parents are traveling the world on a yacht, met some fantastic pirates and left me to live in the fitness center. Or you know, that they live several thousand miles away, and would probably tell her "good luck!"
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"You know I can easily check to see if that's true or not!" She threatened.
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I kind of wonder if she could check to see if the pirate story was true.
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Obviously this woman is an idiot, and I know she can't remember what apartment I'm in for longer than five seconds, based on how many times she's asked me where I live when she's grabbing packages for us. Four times for one package. The very large box was right in front, but I digress.
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"I want you using this equipment properly!" She said, sounding a lot like my third grade teacher.
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Again, you're yelling at an adult, who knows what she's doing, and completely ignoring the small children? Who, by this point have managed to take all the dumbbells off the rack, lay them all over the floor, and are now trying to stand on them, while the other is pushing to roll his friend around the room. Things that make you say: "huh?"
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Yes, it's a complicated world out there. A world where helmets seem to be neccesary in the fitness center, and 24 is the new 12.
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I do like how she thought I looked young enough to be 12. In the words of Monty Python, "always look on the bright side of life!"
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