Intern Blues

February 10th, 2003

I updated my resume today to reflect my new internship, where I’m working on selling booth space for a career fair. As I perused the densely packed resume, I gasped in surprise. It seems my reported work experience consists almost exclusively of intern experiences. I found that ironic, as I am currently applying to be an intern at AOL.

And then it hits me: maybe i don’t need to worry about finding permanent employment post graduation.

Maybe I can just jack around and be an intern all my life.

I mean, it makes sense when you think about it. I’m sure we all know people who have been in college long past the anticipated graduation date. And of those who take so long to get through, a good portion find it hard to leave college town, U.S.A. and up sticking around, working as profs, assistants, and house managers.

What’s so bad about being a lifer-intern? I mean, yeah the internship I currently have doesn’t pay, but hey at least I’m not *spending* any money. Just think, if I were to spend another 3 years in college as an undergrad, I would actually be shelling out 15G’s a year! That’s 15,000 bank donuts down the drain!

the list of potential careers now reads: career intern,spy, feng shui master, mother to challenged child, medical experiment participant, naval officer, stripper, lawyer, and taco bell employee.

Yeah, this intern gig may not be too bad. But geez, I don’t know if I can take it if I have another day like today. Today at work I called all these people and none of them were the least bit interested in my sales pitch. That’s 2.5 hours of rejection people - constant rejection.

The lowest point of my day came about 3pm today when i’m trying to call some unpronounceable tech company. I call this place, because it’s on my list, and this Indian with a thick accent answers. I can’t understand the name of the company as he bellows it into the receiver.

I give my spiel about how his company should attend our career fair, yakety smackety, and he goes “hey how did you get this number? This is a small restaurant!” And so I’m like profusely apologizing, saying I dialed the wrong number (which is true), and he’s like “yeah right, … yeah right… you didn’t know this was a restaurant… yeah, right you didn’t know this was a restaurant…”

The high point of my day was hanging up on Rude Dude. And then having a good laugh at his expense. I mean, did he really think I purposely scouted him and his second-class dining facility out so I could *pretend* to not know where I was calling?

Give me a break jackass.

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