They were four clean-cut kids who were having lots of fun, and they were driving Yossarian nuts. He could not make them understand that he was a crotchety old fogey of twenty-eight, that he belonged to another generation, another era, another world, that having a good time bored him and was not worth the effort, and that they bored him, too. He could not make them shut up; they were worse than women. They had not brains enough to be introverted and repressed.
Yossarian feels increasingly alienated from four carefree young people who are having a great time, enjoying life without a care. Their exuberance contrasts sharply with his own cynical and jaded outlook, as he sees them as embodying a youthfulness that he no longer possesses. Despite being only twenty-eight, he feels like an outdated relic, belonging to a bygone era and unable to appreciate their lightheartedness. Their incessant chatter and joyful demeanor...
