======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ==== ======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ====
Last week was my intern’s first week on the job. Now, before I begin this great tale, I’d like to take you on a short but detailed journey on how I believed her first week would go down.
Go ahead and think back through your own personal experiences as an intern. I know that’s a lot of drunken nights to weed through, so I’ll wait. I didn’t find it farfetched to believe that my intern–let’s call her Intern Girl because obviously–would act similarly. You know, bright-eyed, hopeful, and eager to please. Well, maybe not always, but for God’s sake, at least for the first week. Right? I assumed she would come in dressed for success, be attentive, and, just for the first several days, seem as though she gave a damn. By all accounts, I thought she would give me the initial perception of “mature college student.”
Obviously, as we have been in her shoes before, this would all be a façade. I’m no fool. Even now, with an actual career that puts real, American dollars into my bank account, I am not eager or bright-eyed by any means, and I’m sure as shit no longer hopeful or optimistic. But, I digress.
If I can manage to hit snooze three times in a row, sleep in the shower for 10 extra minutes, choke down a bowl of cereal or a Pop-Tart, and make myself look like I didn’t stay up too late watching “Modern Family” reruns and drinking beer by 8:30, by God, Intern Girl can do it by 9 a.m. Right?
At 9:15 Monday morning, Intern Girl comes bouncing through the door in a navy blue sequined mini skirt and chambray blouse, paired with six-inch heels that showed just enough of her “YOLO” tattoo on the inside of her arch. Keep it tucked in your pants, boys. Even if wearing a mini skirt to work was okay, this is one of those clothing choices she’ll look back on one day and regret, as Intern Girl has not yet lost her Freshman 15 (closer to 25, but who’s counting).
Have you ever played poker? Keeping the shock (read: disgust) wiped off my face was one of the most difficult things I have ever done. Watch out, ESPN–I’ll be World Series of Poker-ready by 2015. “But, why did you hire her if you saw she dressed like a Forever 21 model?” Well, the answer is simple. I didn’t. That fateful task was left in the hands of my hormonally incompetent male counterpart.
“She has a fantastic work ethic and hardworking demeanor, right? Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
No, fuck you and your generous thoughts.
After getting her up to speed on a few of the clients she would help me deal with this summer and giving her the typical, “Here’s how you make coffee. Learn it, live it,” office tour, we wandered to the conference room for the weekly production meeting where she squeezed herself in between two of the three owners. Frankly, I was impressed that she already seemed so comfortable around everyone, as I still swerve hard and fast the moment they enter my peripherals. For one brief, fleeting moment, I thought maybe these next three months wouldn’t be so bad after all.
That glimmer of hope went out faster than a cigarette in a dorm room. You see, interns, the next generation, use “YOLO” as a way of life. I blame Bieber, but that is my own, completely biased opinion. Bitch whipped out her legal pad and blatantly began doodling while one of the owners she had sandwiched herself between began running down the list of the major dos and don’ts of one our newest and largest clients.
I get it. You don’t give a fuck. I can’t even blame you for not giving a fuck. I hardly give a fuck. But if you’re going to choose to sit next to not one, but two of the most important people in the entire company, at least pretend to give just one fuck and don’t be a cunt. Please? I know you’re really caught up in that star-cloud-boyfriend’s name manifesto you’re working on over there, but if you were to look up at me, you’d see the hole my boss just glared through my face.
The moral of this story is that the future is bleak, guys. It’s full of being responsible of people who blow through your office like a summer hurricane and you’re the entry-level FEMA equivalent, standing in the corner by the copier and questioning what the fuck just happened. Interns are the corporate Lucifer. Hell, they’re even the nonprofit Lucifer. They get to leave while I’m stuck here getting paid a pittance to clean up their shit. There are people I graduated college with when Intern Girl was but a mere senior in high school who I believed would wreak havoc enough on society as it is, but it clearly gets so much worse.