The Chronic(what)cles of Interning

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I'm officially a grown up. I am paying for car insurance, sorting my colors from my whites, even making my own crock pot meals. Never mind the fact that I've moved into my mom's basement, am currently reading The Hunger Games, a young adult best seller, and am still won over by cupcakes (oh hell, who among us isn't?). The fact is that I'm as close to an adult as I've ever been, and I have a paid internship to prove it.

An excellent advertising agency in DC has hired me, thanks to the suggestion of the lovely Mama Schell. Truth be told, I'm not sure why they've taken me on...I forgot what I was saying during the middle of the interview. Not in an I-forgot-what-I-was-saying-but-I-faked-it-and-was-fine kind of way; more like an I-forgot-mid-sentence-and-blanked-and-stopped-talking kind of way. But they are kind folk, and found it in their generous hearts to hire me, potentially out of pity. Many might say, "It's ok, Colleen, just work hard and you'll prove that they made the right choice." I'm trying, friends, I'm trying. But I'm unintentionally keeping the pity levels high.
Example 1:
I was supposed to write "Check It Out." Instead, I wrote "Check On It." I put a Beyonce and Slim Thug song on game cards that will go out to all of America's grade schoolers to help them learn about saving money. Oops. Good thing my coworker caught it before the final printing.

Another of my finer moments is as follows:

There I am, walking in on my first day, wearing grown up business lady clothes, heels included. Why do I feel the need to wear heels? I'm 5'9; with heels I can be classified as a circus freak. Strike 1. I shake hands of everyone in the building, all while I have a bad case of the sniffles. What was I supposed to do, walk in and keep to myself? No, I'll just spread some germs, then get tasked with writing a speech about the Secretary of Health and Human Services, who did this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjmCHGL6ddg

Please note that they weren't disgusting sniffles, just the annoying kind where you sound like a drug addict. I suppose it's debatable as to which kind is worse. Strike 2.

Get ready for strike 3. I'm being led down the stairs by two people, only to meet 3 more at the bottom.

"Oh, look! The new intern!" they must have been thinking.

"I wonder what she's like?"

"Wow, she's tall. Those are some high heels!"

"Uh-oh, her shoes are stuck in her hem, and she's falling down the stairs."

"Oh no, her shoe flew off, and now she's standing here, in front of us all, without a shoe on."

What can I say, I know how to make a lasting impression.

Hopefully my recent work has been good and allowed a few people to leave the pity party. Last week, however, I had a close call that would have invited people far and wide to celebrate.

It was the end of the day, and I was asked to help by doing my favorite thing ever: mount art on matte board.

Hmm, sarcasm doesn't transfer well online.

Let me be clear: I hate mounting art. Hate. I always make it crooked, the glue gets all over my hands, I cut the board wrong, my fingers hurt from pressing down on exacto blades (as my sister would say, call the wah-mbulance, wah-wah-wah). So, I was in desperate need of a wah-mbulance, cutting stupid sizes for a million different pieces of work, using a box cutter and 2 exacto knives. I held them up to see how sharp they were, and just at that momeny my iTunes shuffled and played a song. This beautiful song, filled with violins, strength, power; it was a song that perfectly fit my attitude, standing there with a crazed look in my eye. It was the shower theme from Psycho. Thankfully, my iPod was playing for me and me alone, straight into my ears. I guess it didn't help that I started laughing maniacally at the coincidence of the song, I'm sure that was a scary image too. I'll just keep telling myself that it would have been a lot worse if other people heard the laughing and the song, with me holding the sharp blades, right?

The pity party may be over for now, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time before my true colors show and they can't help but feel sorry for, and maybe a little weary of the crazy intern.