How come some people genuinely think society should pay for them just to exist and do what they want all day?

I mean, what makes these people think they're so special that they shouldn't have to get a job doing something that isn't fun enough in their minds, yet the rest of us should in order to support them? I keep finding more and more people like this, and it perplexes me how one can be so delusional and full of themselves.

A good handful of people I know (all of them in their late 20s or older) have quit their jobs to do Twitch, OnlyFans, YouTube, TikTok, or something of the like. A few of them constantly complain about being broke and elicit pity from others, and also beg for money. One of them spends like there's no tomorrow and then proceeds to whine about having no money and begs for it like it's owed to them. Another one publicly bashed their former job with a story that smells very much of BS and is also a perpetual victim. They all have this massive sense of self-importance, like the world should be very concerned with them and look to them for their infinite wisdom with their "influencer" BS, and they all seem to feel entitled to be financially supported by others. Some of them also up and decide to live in a vehicle to travel the country with no job and then have no idea what to do once their money runs out. I even know adults who fully expect their parents to fund their very expensive hobbies and let them live at home rent-free indefinitely. Shit, I know people who are pushing 30 who refuse to get a job because "nothing interests them" or "they're not ready." Like, excuse me?? Do you think people work in places like the sewage treatment plants, in hot and miserable factories and warehouses, or doing highly dangerous jobs like being linemen because they find it interesting? No, it's because somebody has to do it! Also, how are you nearing 30 years old and "not ready" to be an adult and get your shit together? You'd better get ready, because the gravy train won't last forever!

There are even people trying to convince others that they are mentally or physically impaired far beyond what anyone with common sense would believe they are just so someone will pity them and support them. I know someone in their late 20s who actually WANTS to be admitted into a group home thinking they'll just be taken care of, yet gets pissed at their parents asking them to do things and likes to say "I'm an adult, I don't answer to anybody." You absolutely answer to someone if you're living under someone else's roof and being supported by someone else's money, and you WILL absolutely answer to someone, no questions asked, if you move into a group home (not to mention they're not a rest home for people who don't feel like working, that's not how it works). Do they think a group home will allow them the freedom to do whatever they like? Lol.

Oh, and I'm eternally sick of mental health constantly being used as an excuse for this shit. At this point, a lot of these people are milking that for all it is worth. I don't buy for a minute that the same people that can't work "because anxiety" can go to concerts with no problem. The mental health industry absolutely has ownership in enabling this BS, too. Everyone and their brother is suddenly diagnosed with anxiety and depression, and it's starting to lose its meaning at this point.

I don't mean to sound like an ass, lol, but this crap just astounds me. It's even more concerning that there are enabling parents that raise their kids to grow up thinking this is okay, and expecting others to take care of them, and/or believing their comfort and wants are more important than those of others' and that they're entitled to money and things they refuse to work for.

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swirlie · F

I actually blame my own father for this same mindset that I was taught from my teenaged years growing up on the farm.

We had a vegetable stand at the end of our farm laneway where people would stop to buy fresh produce. My Dad told me to just sit up on the countertop beside the cash register and he'd look after everything else.

At the end of the say, I'd jump down and he'd hand me $100

Why wouldn't I expect the same from society today?

whowasthatmaskedman · 70-79, M

@swirlie But you didnt know the value of having a cute kid by the register. You earned that money..😷

swirlie · F

@whowasthatmaskedman
True I suppose, I did earn it. Sales were down if I never showed up for work on Saturdays, so I guess that proves it.

whowasthatmaskedman · 70-79, M

@swirlie Exactly...😷

anonnn777 · F

@swirlie You have a point, it is definitely a product of how a lot of people are raised, and especially those that are enabled well into adulthood or grow up with parents who take advantage of others in this same way. Many of the people I know who are like this are enabled by someone and/or grew up in a family where this sort of thing is normal. I think although it usually is not ill-intended, it's so detrimental to spoil and enable kids. Whether it is never telling them no or at least never following through with it, always bailing them out of their repeated bad decisions, or giving them money so they never have to be self-sufficient, it is damaging to them in the long run. I mean, what happens when you're no longer around and your kid has never learned to take care of themselves? Even the ones who go looking for a partner to support them are at a much higher risk of ending up in an abusive and controlling relationship, because those kind of partners look for vulnerable and dependent people.

whowasthatmaskedman · 70-79, M

@anonnn777 You are correct. The only thing I can add is that no two relationships are exactly alike. Like no two people. So if two people find a level that works perfectly well for them both and no real abuse is involved, that is a successful relationship. no matter what it looks like to others..😷

swirlie · F

@anonnn777

You have a point, it is definitely a product of how a lot of people are raised, and especially those that are enabled well into adulthood or grow up with parents who take advantage of others in this same way.

In my particular case, I had been an aspiring gymnast from the time I was about 5 years old and in my example above as a teenager, I was 13 years old but looked closer to 17, mainly because of my above-average height as a Scandinavian offspring of two blonde-rooted parents, plus I had a stick-thin but highly toned physical appearance and I had no ambition to look like a Hollywood Barbie doll fresh out of the box, but instead I had a more liberated female appearance in my public deportment.

I would always help my mom at our vegetable stand on weekends and I'd run around in my very old, black nylon Speedo bikini with it's failed elastic waistband and matching trainer-bra component, plus a matching black baseball cap, both purchased on sale from Walmart. Now dressed the part, I'd act as her able-bodied assistant carrying wooden crates of vegetables from a farm wagon parked behind the stand and around to the front where I'd unload them wherever she wanted them on display for her customers.

Then when customers would come by, I'd be the one who'd be summoned to carry their purchase out to their car for them which would be parked along the edge of our gravel road in front of our farm. I was allowed to keep any tips they gave me and my mom paid me $20 at the end of the day.

When my mom was busy doing other things around the house and now my Dad had to run the vegetable stand himself, it became a father/daughter bonding session for he and I, at least for me it was!

He was totally unfamiliar with my working relationship with my mom around the vegetable stand, which meant that the wooden crates were suddenly too heavy for me to carry ...and he would carry them ...and it wasn't safe anymore for me to be carrying bags of vegetables out to customer's cars because of passing traffic on our gravel road, despite all traffic stopping at our roadside vegetable stand anyway... which meant the customers would carry them to their car, not me!

So there I'd sit on top of the vegetable stand countertop, sunning myself and smiling a lot, but not really doing much of anything as he worked alone as I'd watch him, offering my assistance or at least advice in how to do something, though he'd usually decline my expertise, which meant I'd sit like a trophy on a shelf, chatting with each customer as they walked in from the road and told them what I thought of the world.

They'd converse with me as they paid my Dad for their purchase and then they'd carry their own bags to their car, which also meant I never got a tip! It worked for my Dad and I honestly thought my working arrangement with him was funny because I made all this money from him at the end of the day to the tune of $100 for doing basically nothing but acting as Public Relations Representative for my parent's vegetable business!

The amazing thing was, when it came time for me to go to university following my high school graduation at the age of 17, suddenly the $-well went dry for me.

There was NO money, my parents were BROKE.. according to my Dad's version of his financial status, despite there being over $1million worth of tobacco harvesting equipment parked inside his equipment barn because after all, it was a government-regulated tobacco farm first and foremost which also required a new pickup truck on his side of the garage plus a new Honda Accord on my mom's side of the garage. My Dad couldn't explain to me how all that 'stuff' got on our property but only to say that one day they all showed up and the owner never came back to retrieve them, so he used them and kept them stored until he showed up which he never did, so finders keepers was my Dad's attitude.

I asked my Dad one day as I was floating around in our in-ground backyard pool while catching a few rays as he sat under the shade of a giant umbrella drinking pink lemonade I'd made for him, that it was appearing to me that we were actually 'poor folk', considering I was still riding my 10-speed bike into town every time I turned around and didn't actually have my very own car.

So I asked him, "are we poor?".

His answer to me was, "No, WE are not poor, but you and your sisters are poor!", his reference to "WE" being, him and my mom NOT being the poor one's.

He then reminded me that HE owned the 10-speed bicycles my two sisters and I rode 5 miles into town on everyday ..and HE owned the in-ground swimming pool I was currently floating around in and which became party-central for all of my high school friends ..and HE owned the new air mattress that I was lying on as I floated around asking him all those questions ..and that HE actually owned the entire bottle of suntan oil I had been smearing all over my skinny lean body which meant I wasn't using much, but which I shouldn't be wearing AT ALL while I'm swimming in the pool!

It was at that moment I realized that I was totally hard-done by, a total victim of poverty who was about to go to university ..and my own father suddenly couldn't find his check book. Like, what the heck is that about?

Fortunately, I was able to attend my first year of university on an Athletics Scholarship I had earned while in high school, but the rubber was now meeting the road very quickly and I actually had to get a part-time job while attending university to be able to supplement my tuition... `cuz Dad said it was time I learned how to make my own money and use my own brain to manifest it!

At 18 years old now but looking closer to 22 according to the guy who hired me part-time as a sales person at our local marina, it suddenly occurred to me that if I kept my mouth shut as I tried to sell those old used motor boats tied up at the marina dock to prospective clients, that the boat would sell all by itself and without my expert advice, no differently than our vegetables would sell all by themselves as I sat on my Dad's counter top at his vegetable stand!

So, every Saturday morning I would show up for work at the marina and just stand outside by the dock where the used boats were up for sale, to say as little as possible to interested clients, but tell them the stats about each boat that was printed on a piece of paper that my marina boss had given me.

Sure enough, all those old wooden fishing boats would sell and all I had to do was be there for 'show and tell', which meant show the boat and talk about it, but otherwise just enjoy the sunshine and social interaction with everyone who came into the marina!

I learned a lot about 'sales' from my Dad and he didn't really tell me a darn thing!