Thursday, June 04, 2009
Committee Intern receives explicit instructions from the departing committee staff – who are about to attend a meeting – for Committee Intern to contact staff immediately at a certain number in the event that someone “important” calls. Being in a rush, recognizing that Committee Intern had been on the job for a few weeks, and banking on common sense, staff did not define the word “important.”
Committee Intern receives a phone call from Committee Chairman to talk to a certain staffer. Committee Intern patches the Chairman to staffer’s voicemail…. and then leaves for the day before staff returns.
Potential intern on an interview for a spot in our office.
First, she walks into our office not five, not 10, but 35 minutes late – claiming the traffic was worse than she thought it would be. Mind you, she took the metro, and she lives nearby – she knows what to expect.
She is wearing a dress – or a pathetic excuse for a dress. It was more like a beach cover up. I’ll give her credit that it at least had long sleeves, but this linen and bedazzled dress would have not passed the dress code at my high school. To top it off, she is wearing thong sandals which are, of course, bedazzled with rhinestones as well (have to dress it up and be classy, right?). What happened to professionalism? Or suits, for that matter?
Our Chief of Staff decides that even though she is ridiculously late for her interview, that he will meet with her. From my desk, I could overhear the conversation – it wasn’t pretty. Every other word was “like,” and she even dropped a “totally cool” mid-interview. While heading out of our office, she shared with him that she likes to go out in Georgetown with her friends on the weekends.
Sadly, her status as great, great, etc. granddaughter of a (barely mentioned) politician was unable to make up for this lackluster performance and help her get a spot as an intern in our office. Even though, don’t worry, daddy called us about four times beforehand to try to seal the deal.
After reading this blog, I am saddened by the fact that she did not get the internship – I’m sure there would have been a lot of great stories about her to put on here.
A new Capitol Hill intern is waiting for her capitol tour group in the capitol. A fellow intern asks to pass the time with her while they both wait for their tours to conclude. As they prepare to finish our tours the fellow intern hands her his "business card." (Cards he made himself and are not from the official office.) He then asks her to call him as he departs.
I’ve never to this day seen three hill staffers at a complete loss for words.
At some point or another through our Hill staffer endeavors, we all encounter that one "special" intern (only one if we are lucky), as made evident by this blog, who leaves behind a legacy which will forever after be remembered and periodically recalled with much laughter and cringing.
Prior to said "legendary" intern (for the purposes of relating her adventures we will refer to her as "Greta") officially beginning her internship with our office, she made numerous phone calls to the office asking a wide variety of questions which ranged from what to wear to what time to be there. One particular phone call she asked if it was okay to wear jeans because she wasn't much of a dress or skirt type girl. My very adept and polite co-worker informed her that jeans were not okay.
Most would think that the next question would be along the lines of "Oh ok...well, what about dress pants?"
Oh no...not this young lady. Needless to say, when she immediately responded instead with "Okay well what about black jeans?" ...we knew we were truly in for a treat...
That's a special, special combination, junior mint -- two margaritas, at lunch, on your first day of work as a Hill intern, bought with a fake ID.
LD: What issues are you interested in?
Intern: [thinks for a moment] Yes.
LD: Um, no, I mean, what legislative issues do you find interesting? Do you like health care?
Intern: Yes.... I mean.... No. Because health care deals with sick people, and sick people make me sad.
This morning I jumped on a typically sardine-crowded red line train. Tons of interns crowding the doors, of course, but the worst of all was the Skintern wearing a zebra print tank top, with soaking wet hair. (I guess she spent so much time on her Friday-night-going-to-McFaddens-makeup that she didn't have time to dry it?) Little Miss Skintern had wrapped her entire body around a pole smack dab in the middle of the car. I looked her in the eye and said, "You know, a lot more people could hang on to this pole if you could remove yourself from it. I promise, when the train stops, you won't fall over." Skintern glared at me, rolled her eyes, said, "What if I don't move?" and continued to hang on to the pole, blocking at least six people from using it, boring holes into the back of my head while I read my paper.
I kind of wanted to get off at Farragut North with her just to trip her up the escalator, but I'm guessing Skintern would do a good job of that on her own. God I love Intern Season.
Woman in an ill-fitting pink seersucker suit with panty-line-showcasing capri pants--far enough above the ankle to show off a pair of Rainbow flip flops. Topped off by hair badly in need of new highlights and probably not washed this morning. Chatting with an older woman who, while plain, was put together and appropriately dressed.
The worst part? Because her badge was turned around and clearly one of several IDs, I'm not sure she was an intern.
Traveling home one evening on Metro a notable news reporter was standing near me. As a courtesy, everyone was adhering to proper Metro conduct by leaving him alone and minding their own business. An intern was also standing near by and quite obviously staring at him. He noticed her and very politely said, "May I help you miss?" Her trance broken, she blushed and replied, "Oh no, I'm sorry, you just look a lot like my favorite reporter." He smiled and jokingly said, "Well is he at least handsome?" Her response was, "Well I think so, but my friends don't. And they all tell me he's gay anyway." He smirked and the conversation ended. Anderson Cooper left our train at the next stop.
I thought the lady behind me was going to die laughing. The intern never figured it out.
People come from all over the country to work on the Hill, but a good chunk of Hill staffers attended college right here in the nation's capital. Georgetown interns: yes, we all know your school is hot shit, and it goes without saying that Georgetown is the top name school in Washington, DC.
However, before proceeding to rip mercilessly on GW, AU, and CUA, you might want to do a little research to see if any of your superiors attended GW, AU, or CUA. There's a good chance at least one if not a few of them did.
When you arrive at the building in the morning and enter the doors, there are usually a couple of police officers there. Those officers politely make you walk through this object called a metal detector. I know that grasping the objective of this machine can be difficult, but please try. It detects metal. Your cell phone - you guessed it - has metal components. That metal coffee canister - you guessed it - made of metal. Those aviators on your head - you guessed it - made of metal. iPod? right again! Metal. Unsure? Err on the side of caution and put it through the metal detector.
Finally, please be curteous and be prepared when you arrive at the metal detector. We don't all want to wait for you.
Ruched metallics are never work or even day appropriate. This poor girl was waddling like a duck from Union Station with both hands grabbing at her skirt to prevent it from riding up. You'd think having to exert that kind of effort would prevent someone from leaving the house (or dorm) in something so constricting and awkward, but you'd be wrong.
The flip flops complete the outfit, but I'm not going to lie-- I wear them too. The jacket was velvet.
Enter: Awkward Intern (AI). He is too nervous to talk to anyone. This is usually the case, so we think it is normal. When he wants to talk to you, he traipses lightly across the room in a waddle-like fashion and plops himself in front of you.
AI: waddle waddle waddle waddle plop. "Um." face turns bright red.
Staffer: "Do you need a brown paper bag to breathe in?"
Staffer: "Your inhaler? An epi-pen?"
AI holds up the infamous envelope
AI: waddle waddle waddle waddle plop in chair. breathe with difficulty.
Intern 2: "I dunno, bro. Let's go to the house side, I heard there's always shit there!"
Pièce de résistance: A committee staffer happened to be walking by as these buffoons telegraphed their bacchanalial desires across 40 feet of the corridor. The staffer and I overcame our considerable partisan differences to share a resigned grimace in silent recognition of the commencement of intern season.
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I tried to take a picture, but she kept staring at me. I think she knew I was horrified in her choice of outfit!