I was sitting at a conference table in a glass-walled corporate office—across from the CFO and the head of HR of a large multinational bank—clicking my pen and crossing my legs nervously from left to right. I was twenty-six years old, wear- ing my best gray suit and most confident smile.

This is it, I thought. This is my big break.

I had been invited to a job interview for a senior management position. The CFO himself had messaged me on LinkedIn. He’d said I fit the profile for what they were looking for and that he’d be keen to meet me in person. I was over the moon, mostly because despite being only twenty-six, I felt ready to take on such a position. A leadership position. I was a deputy director back then, so it made complete sense to move on to department director. Really exciting, right?

Back at the conference table, both the head of HR and the CFO began asking me questions about my prior experiences and qualifications. At this point, I had been at so many job interviews, I felt as if I were in total control of the situation. I had all the right answers, and the chemistry was definitely there. The interview was running smoothly, giving me a constant boost of confidence. I was killing it.

And then, suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, I was harshly interrupted.
“You mentioned you graduated from university a few years ago, may I please ask you how old you are?” the CFO smiled, running his fingers through his gray hair.
“Oh, I am twenty-six,” I replied. “ Why does that matter?” I rolled out a big smile to mask my nervousness, clicking the pen one more time.
I did not like the direction this was going.“I am sorry, I know that I personally invited you to this interview, but I wasn’t aware how old you are. It wasn’t stated on your LinkedIn profile.” He looked both confused and embarrassed.
My heart was pounding, but I kept my cool and my smile still cemented on my face.
“So, what you are saying . . . is that based on my LinkedIn profile I looked perfectly qualified for the director job, but now that you know I am twenty-six, you are second-guessing that?” As my confidence was wearing thin, I took my pen and pretended to make a note in my notebook.
“Oh no, no, no,” muttered the CFO, turning the most shocking shade of pink in the face. “I am not saying that you are not qualified. I am impressed by how far you have come in your career by now, really. However, this would require you to manage a team. Some of the team members are twice your age. You need to have demonstrated leadership skills . . . to serve the board. Be a trusted adviser to the CEO and myself. You know, for senior people to listen to you,” he smiled, and continued. “But I have good news for you. We would be happy to expand the team, so if you are keen to join as a team member, we would be very happy to continue our conversation,” he offered with a tone like he had just announced this week’s lottery winners.

Hell no.

“I was invited for an interview for the director position. And that is the only discussion I would want to have. I can assure you I am able and willing to do the job.” I spoke firmly and confidently, although my heart was racing under pressure.Awkward silence. It was clear that we had mismatched expectations. I wanted the leadership position, and they wanted me to be twenty years older. “Ahh, the new generation,” said the CFO, still laughing, while putting my CV away in a pile of documents.

“You’re all such—”“Such what?” I asked, with my brow raised high against my hairline and a cunning half-smile curling up the side of my mouth. “Such—monsters?”They both stopped whatever they were doing and looked at me, fully concentrated. Their eyes traveling left to right, as if they were trying to process what I had just said.“Monsters,” repeated the CFO, with a slight endearment in his tone. “Yes, that’s the word. Monsters.”

“ We will call you,” said the HR director, avoiding eye contact.

I didn’t get the job. No surprise there. They never called me. In their mind, it was impossible to have a department director that was my age, regardless of the qualifications. There was a simple explanation. I was lacking demonstrated leadership skills. Yes, this was true. I didn’t have any experience as a leader. But how the heck was I going to demonstrate the leadership skills if nobody gave me the chance to demonstrate them?

I kept trying to take the next step, to climb the corporate ladder and become a leader, but I kept failing. Wherever I went, people around me saw exactly that, a little monster with expectations as high as the Burj Khalifa. This wasn’t even a surprise, because I had heard the word monster describe people like me in a professional context way too many times.5) and Gen Z (those born 1996 to 2011).

The main reason for my struggle?

I entered a workforce that was experiencing a so-called generational shift.

My generation, Gen Y, had already acquired quite the reputation in the workplace. A reputation for being shameless, entitled, and hard to manage. In other words, we were spoiled brats at home, and in the office. We had unrealistic expectations about life and work. We, millennials, seemed to have no respect for authority, and much more for know-how. We demanded flat hierarchies and equal treatment across all areas of the organization. We dared to demand our jobs be meaningful. Also, we seemed to desire working for companies that cared about the environment and giving back to communities.

And that wasn’t all. As if the millennials weren’t hard enough to handle, we were warned about the next generation joining very soon. The long-dreaded Gen Z were to be even more radical and frightening. They were the next-gen monsters, with sharper teeth and even louder roars, untamed and wild. They were to arrive not only wanting what the previous generation had achieved, but expecting it. And if they didn’t get it, they would search for it elsewhere.

Gen Zers are digital natives, and this comes at a price. Gen Z grew up in the information era and can be easily led on that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. They could find out how it is to work for an organization without even stepping foot in their offices. They could make informed career choices. Shameless, to say the least. Just imagine, these kids coming in on their first day at work and demanding not only a job with purpose, but a job with a purpose that aligns with their own personal purpose. Or else.

Ha! What horrors.

Ever since I first set foot in the workplace, I felt that the baby boomers (born 1946 to 1964) and Gen Xers (born 1965 to 1980), who were the dominant force, weren’t focusing on the core of the issue. They seemed to dread millennials and Gen Zers like an army of little overentitled vegan monsters, who only cared about the environment, home office, work-life balance, and their own selfish interests. Yes, monsters. You will hear this word a lot in this book.

I couldn’t help but wonder: Why didn’t they prepare the workplace to welcome us?

It seemed to me that they were too busy making jokes and resentful comments. I didn’t see them put their heads together to prepare for the future. The change had already arrived, and they weren’t ready. They weren’t embracing it. I kept listening to lectures and reading articles about millennials and Gen Zers that were written from their perspective with titles sounding something like these: “Managing Millennials: The Hardest Generation,” “10 reasons why millennials are lazy at work,” “ Why are millennials so challenging to work with?” and “Gen Z: Brace yourselves, a new generation is joining,” “Gen Z is even more high maintenance than millennials,” “Gen Z expect to be promoted twice a year.”

Judging by the press, it was unpopular to be a monster, so my plan was to do the opposite of what entitled millennials did. In this way, I was hoping I could fly under the radar without the boomers noticing that I was a monster, and we could all live happily ever after.

However, it was easier said than done.