Confessions of a summer intern, part 1

If you've ever met me, I've probably kvetched senselessly to you at one point or another about the pitfalls of summer internships. The chief complaint being that this summer, I hemorrhaged money paying for transportation and other necessities to maintain an unpaid internship, which a lot of the time, wasn't worth the time and money spent. That, and they spelled my name wrong on the masthead. Yeah, my first name. The one that follows the most traditional spelling of a name that has been around for, oh, you know, centuries. But I should remember my place. I am, after all, a lowly intern, and in fact, am lucky to have a name at all.

In all seriousness though, my summer internship wasn't all that bad. I left with a couple of clips (sort of, that's still pending), and a few lines of credibility added to my resume. And most of all, I was grateful for the experience after reading this: The Story of The Pooping Intern.

And I thought it was embarrassing when I spilled salad dressing all over myself. That's mere child's play.

(Note: Details of the poop story have been called into question, but one thing is for sure: the intern pooped in areas of the office other than the bathroom, and that's all that matters, really.)

On a related note, reading this story on Gawker renewed my passion for the publishing industry. The fact that someone got to write that headline, and the lines "This poop story is truly nightmarish," or "Pooping intern: We salute your courage." If one day I can write things like that, and get paid for it, maybe I'm on the right path after all.