Thursday, June 30, 2011

Spotted: Stay Classy, Stay Classy

Late on a weekend night a group of highly intoxicated female interns stumbled onto the metro. Like most of the other passengers on the train, it appeared this group was headed to Adams Morgan or the like for some frat-like binge drinking. Unfortunately, a few of the interns had pre-gamed a little too hard.

One intern, in particular, was not looking too hot. She was rocking back and forth in her seat, clutching her heels to her stomach. One of her girlfriends had wrapped an arm around her and was whispering into her ear. The rest of the interns started to get quiet. Their drunken giggling became hushed, concerned whispers as they stared at their sick friend. Other passengers started exchanging worried gazes throughout the car. “Is this girl serious? Really, on my car?”  
Sure enough, the sick intern gave a little hiccup. Her chest buckled, and she started to vomit.

First, this intern, vomit girl, started puking into her heels on her lap. A flustered friend hastily dumped out the contents of her purse and instructed her to do her business in the purse. Passengers nearby held their noses and bolted for the back of the car while the rest of us rubber-necked to get a better look at the action.

Luckily, we had just arrived at a stop. Vomit girl, dazed, looked up and quickly ran to the doors of the metro. She stuck her head outside of the car, and let loose. As the doors shut she snapped her head back into the car and stumbled back to her seat, nearly falling on the floor. I could see a tan puddle outside on the platform. At this point, other passengers in the car were laughing out loud at the comedy unfolding in front of them. I kid you not, people were clapping.  

I though vomit girl was done, but there was no such luck. This time, round two, she did not have the courtesy to vomit in her heels, or a purse. She pulled the trigger and the mess landed in the middle of the floor of the car, leaving a puddle of slime for passengers to carefully tiptoe around.

Despite being intoxicated beyond belief, the rest of vomit girl’s intern friends look worried. At the next stop they got off the metro, dragging her along with them. One of the interns looked back as she exited, hastily threw a page of newspaper over the mess on the floor, and gave the other passengers a cute, worried smile. Thanks, vomit girl’s friend. That helped.

Meanwhile, once vomit girl got off the train she bolted across the platform to the other set of tracks where she proceeded to...yup, you guessed it!  

Stay classy summer interns, stay classy.       

Heard: Senate versus Congress

My roommate and I went out for drinks at a bar in Georgetown.  It being early June and the start of the summer hillterns, we weren't surprised by the seemingly young crowd at the bar.  One young man approached us (as had a handful of other barely 21-year-olds) and asked if we lived in DC.  He was a senior in college, a born and raised DC native, and interning at some consulting firm.  He asked if we were interns on the Hill (we are both in our mid-20s and former Hill interns), and we obliged and said yes we had had our stints in Congress.  Eager to strut his vast knowledge of the Hill, we had the following exchange:

Intern: So did you intern in the Senate or in Congress?
Me: You mean did I intern in the Senate or the House?
Intern: Nooo, I mean were you in the Senate or Congress?
Me: I was in the House.
Intern: So you were in Congress, right?

Not only is it bad enough that there are still adults that do not understand what Congress is, but the fact that he grew up in DC and went to a decent school really makes me question some of these college degrees that are being handed out.

Spotted: Too Many Museums

It turns out, some interns DO grow out of their stupidity.


In my early twenties I was an intern at the Smithsonian. Normally, when you enter any of the Smithsonian museums, you must hand your purse or bag to a guard while they inspect it. After visiting a few of the museums, I noticed that one of the nice perks of being a badge-carrying Smithsonian employee (at least when I worked there) is that you could skip this part of the process and the guards would just wave you through. Needless to say, as a young intern, this type of ego-boost went straight to my head. After a few weeks of work, my parents were in town and our plan was to visit a few of the "museums that I worked for." The first one that we went to was the National Gallery of Art. I sauntered up to the guards, my parents in tow, and instead of handing over my purse, I flashed him my Smithsonian badge. He looked straight at me and said, "Nope, that ain't gonna work here," and asked for my purse.
Tip: It helps to know who you actually work for...the National Gallery of Art IS NOT a part of the Smithsonian.

Heard: Email, Call, Email, Call ...

Today I called a Hill office and spoke with an intern. I asked to speak to a specific member of their staff so I could get their email, and was told that if I left my email that person would get back to me. Five minutes later, I received an email from said intern saying if I call the office they can transfer me to the staffer's line, they just can't give the email out freely. The only appropriate response I can think of for this intern is, "Why didn't you just connect me the first time?" 

Heard: Senators are in Cannon

A colleague and I were in the elevator in Rayburn earlier this week discussing our schedule of meetings that day.

Me, to my colleague: “Our next meeting is in Cannon.  Do you think we will have time to stop by and see Senator (X) later this afternoon?”

Helpful intern, listening to our conversation: “Oh you shouldn’t have any problem.  I am pretty sure all of the Senator’s offices are in Cannon.”