Hello My Name
Is Jared and I am the
New Me Head Intern
By Jared Gilbert
Interns
get a bad wrap from the get-go. Sure, we're generally brown-nosing
prima Donnas, but that doesn't mean we're all bad. I have an aunt
named Donna and she's made out all right thus far. She graduated
college summa cum laude. After a brief stint in the entertainment
industry, she resolved to indulge her inner philanthropist and took
up teaching local retards as a "special education" instructor. She
later even managed to have a nephew like me- a wealthy, healthy,
stealthy shoot from the hip Me Head intern. Top Notch. No additives
or preservatives needed. 100 percent pure badass.
So
how's the life of a Me Head intern, you ask? Let me tell you, words
can't do justice for such a position. Oscar Wilde once told us to
aim for the moon, with hopes of landing among the stars. Currently,
I feel I'm in an alternate orbit. A Me Head orbit. I offer this
sample journal as an emotional compensation-
A Day in
the Life of Me, Jared, the new Me Head Intern
6 AM - Wake
up. Time to kick literary ass. No Excuses you say? None needed!
7 AM - I take
a quick shower and get dressed. If you want to act the part, you've
got to look it. I decide to look the part of Jar-Jar Binks.
8 AM - Commute
to the Me Head office. The early
bird catches the worm, so generally I find I'm the first one
in the door. Its best to get the menial tasks out of the way early-
cleaning up Matt or Mike's waded-up paper mess, phoning in for Rudy's
medication, calling Amber to remind her that, yes, we really do
come to work on Mondays.
10 AM - Wake
up call to Matt's apartment. He usually just hangs up on me.
11 AM - The
mail comes around this time. After checking the stack for the occasional
Me Head mail bomb I am forced to either: a.) (In case of bomb) Quickly
decode and disarm the package, moving with an efficiency and speed
born only of divine intervention. As the time dwindles, my spirit
soars- I move quickly through the labyrinth of wire and steel, cutting
the cord holding our lives as hostage with the utmost precision
at just the right moment. b.) (In case of no bomb) Play minesweeper.
12 PM - Lunch
time. My time. I dominate! Other customers cower in fear as I dawn
my "hobo" disguise and panhandle on the corner of Xanthus and eleventh.
1 PM - Company-wide
naptime.
4 PM - Rested
and re-charged, I generally organize an employee duel to the death
in the neighboring parking lots. Its gruesome, but necessary. Morale
is low, and satire just doesn't pay the bills like it used to- we're
forced to sell the loser's vital organs to a tissue bank and cast
lots for their personal effects.
5 PM - After
another exhausting day in the diurnal grind, it's time to drive
home.
Internship,
a labor of love at best. And I've got plenty of love to give.
