Captain Intern Away!

So this post id dedicated to a facebook stalker.

we've got this intern at the office, right. CAPTAIN INTERN for all future purposes. It's a little weird- a year ago, I was the intern, scurrying around, unsure about what to do and when to do it and makign obscene suckign noises as I tried to get the very best references I possibly could.

all of this was pretty much moot of course as I ended up in newsrooms where things were thrown, they jacked me up on caffeine till I couldn't really function being a super-hyped electric bunny, or a purple bobble head pen would alternatively rejoice or condemn me, depending on if I bit my nails and called Sarah Jessica Parker a pony, or not.

but I did learn to be a journalist...I guess. what did I pick up from all those times I spend as unpaid slave labour in the media grist mill? well, a lot of fun first. and a good hard kick to my preconcived notions of journalistic pride. walking into tnewsrooms is more a jimmy olsen experience than a Lois Lane one- thye're universally messy, with furniture cobbled together from several different decades, and all seem to have the same era of mac lurking in corners (the same mac would one day start sparking and try to set me on fire at my first real job). There's lot of paper, lots of people, adn random bits of swag from incredibly random sources (I used to have a mouspad with cows on it from agriculture alberta). That was probably hnumber one- the other day V and M came with me on a roadtrip to no where and we sopped by my office, an dthey were appalled. yes, I work in a basement. yes, I'm three feet from A, my coworker, and maybe 4 feet and a wall from BIT. yes, it's all a little dingy and whatnot BUT IT'S SO MUCH BETTE RPOST FLOOD I SWEAR!

part two of the great learning extravagenza was the people. ok sure, sometiems they are intrepid journalists of the woodword and bernstien ouvre, plowing for the truth at all costs. but a lot of the time thye're just people, hanging out, feeding that goat and having a laugh. Maybe it's because up until my fourth year of university my internships had been at rural papers and tv stations where a lot of the time, yeah, you were covering old people. and puppies. and children. and longing for that day when an old lady would get into a horrific fight with a puppy protecting a child and there would be lots of blood (but no fatalities) as that would make an awesome picture (we're also horrible people in newsrooms. seriously. we are on the expresslane to hell and passing others as we speed). And when I was in fourth year I ended up in a cube decorated with twinkle lights refered to as the Playpen.

but that's a good thing! Seriously. and I hope Captain Intern is paying attention here because listen up : newsrooms are not what you think. they're not professional, for the most part. we are professionals, but our workplace is not. it's liek a home. a messy, disorgaized, stressful home. and like a home, you need to get over thinking you're going to have the bestest house on the block right out of the gate. you're not. you may not be in roach filled apartments with a scenic view of a crack den, but you're not going to be in a mansion right away, if those even exist (and I have my doubts). what I'm saying here is I used to beat my head against the wall of I-want-more all the time; I thought the status of working for the news section, for example, of my foruth year internship paper was the be all and end all. I actually cried, a lot, when I found out I'd be put on Entertainment. but that day I walked in and joined the playpen and Violet first turned her bobbly purple head my way, it didn't matter. I got better clips than my compatriot on the newsdesk, I had more fun, and I'm hopign I have better references (hint hint coworkers who read this hehe). Same goes for my current paper- was my old one in Alberta more prestigious? probably. it was the only game in town with a wider readership. but ahve I learned more writign about puppies and kittens and old ladies here? maybe. 

cause that's really what this whole internship thing is about- tring to cram as much real world knoweldege into your head as possible, in about 6 weeks, give or take. and trying to do it without taking in all the bitterness and rage that will inevitably leak out of the reporters around you, while still taking in a little bit of that cynysism, wrapping it around you like a woobie, and usign it so when you end up as the reporter, your tender soul and ideals aren't crushed too brutally. 

oh that and intense coffee intake and general slavery. it's a wheel baby- I was everyone's bitch last year, now you're mine.

you can never escape Captain Intern! 

mmm this is some good crow

So I've got something official to say :

BIT, I'm sorry.

I've clearly misjudged you, underestimated you, and for that, I'm sorry. 

Why this sudden turnabout and metaphorical dining on ugly birds you ask? WELL...friday was quite the day. quite quite quite the day. 32 cents in my bank acount kind of day. gas light goes on in my car when I'm half an hour fromhome kind of day. miss an assignment cause I'm doing ad copy find out my mileage cheque won't be in till Tuesday fight with my boss about edits kind of day.

so it's all fairly gruesome but the important parts are this: I'm incredibly grumpy, incredibly stressed, and just want to curl up in a ball and cry. I cried in my car on the trip between Fall River and my missed assignment and work. I haven't done that in months. So I'm right up to the hilt when BIT hands me back a story that I'd work hard on, slashed to bits. Mainly, a well crafted and woven in paragraph where I integreted a discussion of ethenol as it relates to the current world food crisis. SO we fight a bit about that where I say you know what? I'm just too tired and don't care enough anymore to fight you on this. enjoy your fluff (yeah I get way snippy when i'M not happy), and he says 'I'm sorryw e can't do this sort of thing, if that's what you want to do maybe this is the wrong place for you, but you have to decide that'. and I leave his office going 'woah was that the hint I'm gonna get canned?' followed closely by bad day rebellious feelings of perhaps-i-SHOULD-just-march-in-there-and-quit. I've done that before but only for crap retail jobs.

Anyway, bad day parade continues when he pops his head around his door to inform me that a)mileage cheques, for which I've been waiting, begging, pleading, praying, won't be here till Tuesday. At the earliest. and oh btw, even though it's my weekend off, if I want some ownership of the monthly I've recently started doing tons of work for, there are some weekend events int hat coverage area I shoudl go to. 

So I snap. and say 'dude (yes I called my boss dude), I have 32 cents in my bank account and 20 bucks in my wallet. I can either get gas or eat and even then I'm probably not going to be able to afford to drive in on Monday.'

and he nods, and goes back into his office. then I hear him go 'after your 2 o clock appointmnet, you can go home. that's not a good thing. we'll talk about it monday.' and I go 'ok' and start packing up, then he goes 'actually, we''ll talk about it now' and kicks A and Captain Intern (high schools tudent we've had around latly) out of his office and calls me in.

I enter in that weird agressive/aprehenision pattern you get, where you think you're going to get fired adn you're mentally preparing to quit instead to save your pride. I'm standing too because I know it makes him uncomfortable when I'm taller than mhim (ok it makes me feel better more like). and then he starts in about how he knows the situation is bad but the others out there don't need to hear about it blah blah and I do something I NEVER DO.

ever.

I cry. in front of my boss. I have one of those face scrunching moments of comoplete overwhelm-ness, frustration bubbling up in highly unattractive and unprofessional snuffling complete with snot. I am not a pretty cryer. 

and BIT tells me it's Ok,a nd I go its not because I never do this, professionalism and blah blah then he's telling me to sit down and how he understands, he was exactlyw here I was for three years, and he's pushing to get us a cost of living increase, and would $ help? and I'm thinking 'wait what?' then he's saying, no no I'll lend you that money, to get you through the weekend.

and I'm thinking dear god I misjudged this man. that's seriously above and beyond. I should know- I've had older, more experienced, hypothetically wiser and better bosses who, when I was in WORSE situations couldn't be bothered. but this? this is big. this is entering territory of great-boss here. 

so I swallowed my pride- I'm too poor for pride anyway-and took the money. I'll pay him back on Tuesady when I get the mileage cheque. for now I've got food and gas and can...breathe a bit. 

meanwhile. I have to totally revaluate my perception of BIT. yes, he can be a bit of an asshat occasionally- but can't we all? I'm sure we've all been posterior chapeauxs at one point or another. but...he's got the potetnial to be a great boss. he's got that thing that when he's older, when he's doen this more, when he's a bit more experienced adn maybe when he's not swamped dealing with ads everyday will make him one of those kick ass editors, at that small paper so many amazing journalists travel through. that person who in 20 years will ahve a string of award winning journalists saying 'I learned it from him'. 

or you know, just that he made sure I didn't starve.