Dear Diary, Apparently, I’m Either 12 or 45—There Is No In Between (And My Cashier Knows It)

Look. I have lived in the same building as this grocery store for YEARS. The cashier lady? She knows me. She sees me literally every day. We have exchanged pleasantries. We have bonded over mutual exhaustion. I have watched her judge my 11 PM snack runs in real-time.

And yet.

There I was, buying a single bottle of wine for COOKING, (because I’m a classy, responsible adult who makes sauce, not life mistakes), and Cashier Karen squints at me like I just tried to rob the store.

"I need to see your ID, sweetie."

Ma’am. Please.

We both know you have seen me drag my sad little self in here to buy oat milk and overpriced cheese on a weekly basis. You have watched me age in real-time. And now you’re going to act like I’m some underage hooligan trying to smuggle out a bottle of cheap Chardonnay for a teenage rager?

But fine. Whatever. I pull out my ID like a law-abiding adult and hand it to her.

That’s when I hear it.

Behind me, a 14-year-old child—wearing leggings, a hoodie, and the confidence of someone who has never paid a utility bill—throws down a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of Barefoot Moscato like she’s hosting Desperate Housewives: The Prequel.

And Cashier Karen says nothing. NOTHING.

Excuse me?? EXCUSE ME.

So let me get this straight—I, a grown adult who literally lives upstairs, am getting questioned over a bottle of wine that is destined for a pasta sauce, but Little Miss “Live, Laugh, Vape” is walking out of here with enough questionable life choices to write a memoir?

Make it make sense.

Being a Zillennial is a Blessing and a Curse

At this point, I’ve accepted that being a Zillennial (aka that awkward micro-generation between Millennials and Gen Z) means I exist in a constant state of identity crisis.

Am I too old? Too young? Who knows? Not me. Not society. Not even my own reflection.

Some days, I’m a fresh-faced child getting ID’d for cough medicine. Other days, my back cracks so loud when I get up that strangers look at me with genuine concern.

It’s a rollercoaster. Let’s break it down.

Why Being a Zillennial is a CURSE:

1. No One Knows How Old We Are, Including Us

If I wear a hoodie and sneakers? Suddenly, I look 16.
If I wear a blazer and glasses? People assume I own property.

There is no in-between.

2. We Grew Up with Both Flip Phones and TikTok

We went from playing Snake on a Nokia to scrolling through existential crisis memes at 2 AM on an iPhone 15.

My first phone had actual BUTTONS. Now, I have to pretend I know what to do when my WiFi router crashes.

3. We’re Always the Youngest or Oldest in the Room

At work? I’m the baby who doesn’t know how to use a fax machine.
At a concert? My knees start protesting by the second song.

4. Gen Z Thinks We’re Cringe, Millennials Think We’re Too Young, Boomers Just Think We’re Lazy

If I say “slay,” Gen Z side-eyes me.
If I say “adulting,” Millennials groan.
If I say “work-life balance,” Boomers laugh and walk away.

Why Being a Zillennial is Actually a BLESSING:

1. We Had the Best Childhood

We had Saturday morning cartoons, renting movies from Blockbuster, and MSN Messenger status updates that were just passive-aggressive Taylor Swift lyrics. A golden age.

2. We Can Adapt to Literally Anything

We survived dial-up internet, the rise and fall of Myspace, and the betrayal of Pluto no longer being a planet.

3. We’re Just the Right Amount of Cynical

Millennials are burnt out.
Gen Z is anarchic chaos.
We? We know how to make trauma funny.

4. We Know That Barefoot Moscato is a Red Flag

Unlike that 14-year-old purchasing her first questionable decision, we have learned.

So what did we learn today?

1. I am either 12 or 45. There is no in-between.
2. I will never understand how ID laws work.
3. That 14-year-old is in for a RIDE.

And honestly? At this point, I just need my pasta sauce wine in peace.