Kristin Hall: Generation Y is a myth

Of all the gloriously inaccurate stereotypes floating around the social sphere, there are few as damaging as the "generation factor".
Rather than institutionalising a mere race, sexuality or religion, the dark lord of generation stereotyping decided to up the ante, casting his hideous cape of ignorance over entire eras of human life. I have traditionally ignored the most entertaining stereotypes cast upon me, but this little chestnut has proved hard to ignore.
Born in 1990 and on the cusp of my working life, I am the apparent definition of Generation Y. According to modern insight, my peers and I are the demanding, ambitionless technological masterminds with daddy issues and the attention span of an amoeba. We are also notorious for claiming to know it all. This could not be further from the truth.
In my last year of university and approaching my first job to involve neither a name tag nor a visor that is border-line inhumane, I am the first to admit I know nothing about the real world of corporate servitude.
This may seem refreshing, righteous even. It will be less refreshing for the staff of TVNZ. I have an internship there in a month. I am well aware of what my generation stereotype expects of me. I am to waltz in on my parent-funded heels and a cloud of smugness, leaving a trail of hatred and triple-distilled extra-skinny mocha latte behind me. I am to toss my feet up on my desk, speak only in abbreviations and generally make it impossible for my workmates to look at me without planning a homicide.
I can guarantee this will not be the reality. While I aspire to the confidence maintained by all those hovering on cloud superior, the thought of an internship at an actual news station is enough to make me want to hibernate in a hole of play dough, head lice and eternal youth.
I am mortified, panic stricken and seriously concerned that my only good quality jumper features Mickey Mouse doing the jig. Over the last two years I have spent most of my news reporting time in the university newsroom. This is my kind of habitat - care free, authority free, and short of turning up to class in Glad Wrap and a panda mask you can pretty much be who you want. These are the charms of university living. If that wasn't the case no one would go.
But like all pleasant things in life, the freedom cannot last forever. Short of being that balding, quadruple postgrad with a tent in the lecture hall and a student loan the size of a continent, all students must eventually migrate into professional serfdom. This is when everything changes. You succumb. You sacrifice your freedom for a stable pay cheque and a steady supply of staffroom Milo.
You are no longer an independent human being, but a part, a fragment, a pawn in the corporate game of paperweights, deadlines and appropriate water-cooler conversation. Unfortunately this reality does not set in until you are away from the consistent source of ego-stroking that is your parents and their friends. As individuals who have either spent 24 hours of misery forcing you into existence, funded the rest of that existence or both, parents are inherently inclined to think you're fabulous.
Having been through similarly uterus-based or wallet-straining child-production activities your parents' friends will only encourage them. These cats know their market.
Newbies of all persuasions find out the hard way that the affections of employers and colleagues are somewhat harder to come by. Outsiders find nothing quite as satisfying as telling people who think they are great that they aren't. This is the only reason American Idol has existed for 10 seasons.
It is a terrifying thought. Many of you probably have someone working under you or will do in the future. My plea to you is this: When the ostensibly cocky trainee rolls into his or her first day at work, doesn't ask questions, doesn't take initiative and is generally an A-grade example of Gen Y ignorance, give him/her a second chance.
Dig deeper, ask questions, encourage. Generation Y is a myth. Under the freshly ironed shirt and the smirk is a mortified kid who just wants to wear a Mickey Mouse jumper to work.