I went into this week thinking I was going to be the wise, experienced mentor—passing down my hard-earned knowledge of email etiquette and how to survive a meeting that should’ve been an email. What actually happened was more like being dropped into a foreign exchange program where the language is English, but also… absolutely not.
By Day Two, I had already learned that a “glizzy” is not a rapper, but a hot dog. I learned that something being “mid” is not about location, but rather an insult you’re supposed to say in a dismissive tone like you’re a disappointed French art critic. And if something “ate,” that means it was good, even though the word ‘ate’ has only ever been followed by regret in my case (see also: ‘I ate gas station sushi and saw the light’).
Day Three: The Rewiring Begins
At first, I was resisting. “No, I’m a serious adult,” I told myself. “I pay for my own dental work.” But then suddenly, the phrases just started leaking out of my mouth like an unholy possession.
I heard myself in a meeting say, “That PowerPoint? It slaps.” To which my boss looked at me with the exact expression you give a dog that just said “bonjour.”
And once it started, it didn’t stop. I was saying “no cap” unironically. I called an Excel spreadsheet “low-key fire.” I referred to my lunch salad as “giving.” Giving what? I don’t know. Fiber, mostly, I guess.
Day Five: Weaponized Annoyance
By the end of the week, I realized I had acquired a dangerous tool: I could use this new Gen Z vocabulary to personally torment my fiancé.
He asked me if I liked the dinner he made. I told him it was “mid.”
He told me I was being annoying. I hit him with a deadpan “no cap.”
He asked me to stop. I whispered, “Let him cook.”
I have never seen a man question his life choices so quickly. The man has survived multiple tax seasons with me, but apparently, being called “based” while brushing his teeth was his limit.
Final Thoughts
Training Gen Z was supposed to make me a better leader. Instead, I’ve become a walking TikTok soundboard who will absolutely call you “bruh” in a work email if you cross me.
Is it cringe? Probably. Do I care? Not really. Because at the end of the day… I ate.
Frequently Wrong, Rarely in Doubt 
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