A Millenial Fable by Simon Rich

Once upon a time, around 2010 or so, there lived a hardworking ant and a carefree grasshopper. The grasshopper was hopping to his heart’s content one sunny morning when the ant trudged by, bearing a large load.
“Why aren’t you hopping?” chirped the grasshopper. “The summer is upon us, and the days are meant for dancing.”
“I’m studying for the GRE,” said the ant. “And I strongly suggest you do the same.”
“Why would I waste this sunshine toiling?” scoffed the grasshopper. “I was thinking, we should try Four Loko before it gets banned.” And then he shouted “YOLO!,” because it was during that brief period of time when people actually did that.
The ant smiled smugly at the grasshopper. “It may be summer now,” she cautioned. “But winter will soon be upon us. Failing to prepare is preparing to fail.” And, with that, she marched into a Starbucks to practice analogies.
The ant went on to graduate school, where she diligently gathered useful skills like coding and statistics. The grasshopper, meanwhile, got work as a barback and moved into a tiny nest in Bed-Stuy. By winter, he’d lost touch with the ant entirely, although for a few years he would get spam e-mails saying she’d invited him to join LinkedIn.
Then, in 2024, the grasshopper ran into the ant at a wedding. There were bags under her eyes and her antennae looked droopy. The grasshopper assumed she was tired from toiling, but it turned out she’d been unemployed for months. Meta had laid her off by e-mail and all the skills she’d learned in school had been automated by artificial intelligence. Her 401(k) was drained, and she was close to defaulting on her student loans. In order to make her monthly payments, she’d had to move in with her dad and his girlfriend in New Jersey, even though they had a really small apartment and there was zero privacy, like none. Like, she hadn’t seen them having sex or anything, but she’d definitely seen things that she wished she hadn’t, like boundaries were blurring in the apartment about what was acceptable to wear in common areas.
“Got any coke?” she asked abruptly.
“Not on me,” said the grasshopper.
The ant drained her champagne flute, then his. “I can’t believe this is my life,” she said, staring at her claws. “I did everything I thought I was supposed to do. While everyone was hopping, I was foraging and gathering and interning . . .” She shook her head slowly, a far-off look in her eyes. “This morning, I saw my dad’s balls. He was wearing a robe, but it was loose, and when he walked by the couch where I’ve been sleeping, bam. There they were. Like, can’t miss them, eye level. Right in my face. His balls, man.”
The grasshopper knew it was impolite to ask, but he couldn’t help himself.
“How much do you owe?”
The ant hesitated. “Including undergrad?”
“Just tell me,” said the grasshopper. “It’s probably not as bad as you think.”
The ant peeked through her claws.
“A hundred and sixty thousand dollars,” she whispered.
“Holy shit! ” the grasshopper said, his five eyes bulging. “That’s fucking crazy!”
“Who at this wedding do you think is most likely to have cocaine?” the ant said. “The cockroach?”