Springfield, Ohio last Sunday during a tense family barbecue witnessed 72-year-old retired factory supervisor Harold Jenkins berate his 8-year-old grandson Timmy for receiving a youth soccer participation trophy. Jenkins, who secured a lifelong pension, a three-bedroom house purchased for $19,000 in 1973 (now valued at $375,000), and a 40-year union-protected job after walking into the plant “with a firm handshake and clean jeans,” slammed the miniature gold-plated figure as “the downfall of Western grit.”
Waving a spatula over smoking burgers, Jenkins bellowed, “This resin abomination celebrates *existence*, not excellence! In 1967, I got a job because the foreman saw me untangle a hose! They handed me keys to a house costing less than your iPhone! Now Timmy expects a shrine for tripping over his own feet?” When Timmy’s mother noted Jenkins’ own garage displayed “Employee of the Month” plaques from an era when the factory’s only competition was a bankrupt toaster company, Jenkins scoffed: “Those took *effort*! I showed up drunk that Tuesday! Timmy couldn’t even score on an open net!”
Timmy, clutching his trophy, retorted, “At least I know what ‘offside’ means, Grandpa.” Jenkins then spent twenty minutes listing industries he’d never worked in but deemed “lazy” before retreating to his paid-off sunroom. Family members predict Jenkins will spend the week mailing angry letters about “millennial entitlement” to newspapers using his subsidized senior postage rate, while Timmy plans to glue the trophy to Jenkins’ vintage Corvette “as a participation award for complaining.” The grill, meanwhile, remains unattended—much like the economic conditions Jenkins inherited.