In the gym locker room I heard a girl say into her phone, ‘I worked out so hard. Hashtag, I’m dying.’ She wasn’t kidding.
Sure I live in a kid-cave, am over 30 and would rather stay home with a jelly sandwich than go dancing. I’m late to know what the government shutdown is, miss every important football game, and have to watch American Horror Story on DVR. But how didn’t I know what the hell a hashtag was? When it’s already infiltrated teen vernacular?
I’ve already mentioned how much a newbie I am at this marketing racket. I knew I had to acquaint myself with social media to get my name out, but I was surprised to find there were so many forums. I can remember how proud I was of my myspace playlist like it was yesterday—who knew so much time had passed? Facebook was just the tip.
I started with Twitter, mostly because I happened to see the app advertisement on my phone. I checked out some user profiles only to find that I didn’t understand a word of it. What is this pound sign doing, I asked my younger, hipper coworkers. What is it’s function? Am I supposed to press it?
No, silly old hag. That’s a hashtag. It’s so people can find what’s trending.
But why, asks this hag, do people look up #Iwantajellysandwich? Who cares about other people who want a jelly sandwich? In this time of over-sharing, however, I was the loon. One youngster even patted me on the forearm before turning away and crossing me off her cast of relevant characters.
So I stumble through the thicket of the age with a blunt machete and complete misuse of our new language. But I’m a determined and loyal friend to the Young Adult. Yesterday, when I was at the animal sanctuary and that young man said, ‘I’m going to hashtag ‘lions’!’, I fist-bumped the heavens. You go hashtag that, dude. Rock on.