So, there I am, 34 years of age, and because I’ve got absolutely nothing better to do, somebody has decided I should be doing another internship. And while I long ago made a habit of ignoring people who think that they can freely dispose of my precious time here on earth, in this case I am not quite able to turn a blind eye because the somebody is my university. And at the end of it all, I have to write a report about it all, critically examining the workplace and detailing my feelings. I don’t see the need to do all this. I could write a book about the workplace. I’ve been there for long enough. And if you really want to know my feelings, I am happy to tell you: I am pissed off. I am pissed off to a degree that is hard to describe.
When I showed up for the first day of my internship, there was this one part of me that whispered stuff like, ‘Pull yourself together. Make a good impression. If you do this right, it might translate into connections, references, opportunities, maybe even a job.’ Then there was a slightly louder and more smug voice saying, ‘Honey! You’re 34 years old and you’re doing an internship. You’ve lost at life already.’ At the end of the day, my two packs of chocolate probably made a better impression than I did. This never fails to work. In fact, it worked exceedingly well because the CEO remarked to everybody that since I had brought chocolate I should be treated especially well. Then it was time for induction. I was shown the kitchen. I looked moderately impressed. My line manager, apparently convinced that I was going to be a more than capable intern, said she did not feel the need to explain and awful lot about the use of the kitchen because she was pretty certain I had used one before. Smart women, that one. Then, convinced that apart from using a kitchen, reading was also one of my skills, she handed me some documents about health and safety. I asked for pen and paper and duly took some notes to show that I could also write.
I also had a sad moment when I had to send the contact details of an emergency contact to my colleague and realized that I only have one friend in the UK. I used to have two, but then I had a fight with one and now I have only one left and I had to look up her last name in order to spell it correctly. Just for the record, a friend for me is someone who when he/she gets a call to be informed of the fact that his/her good friend Gabi has been hit on the head because she upset someone does not say, ‘Who’s Gabby?’ (And here’s an aside. Guys, you need to learn to spell my name correctly. My name first name is Gabriele (with only one l) and the short version of it is Gabi. It doesn’t get much easier than that. If that isn’t doable, be advised that I also respond well to ‘Hey you!’. Also, due to the spellcheck on my sister’s phone going rampant and the fact that Apple products never miss an opportunity to inflict emotional pain on me, I have recently also begun to answer to ‘Hank’.)
I briefly thought about asking a fellow intern if she wanted to be me emergency contact because although I don’t know her that well, I like and respect her very much. Unfortunately, I was too embarrassed to venture over to her desk and ask her because I was afraid everyone would make fun of me after that. (‘Hank doesn’t seem to have any friends in the UK, so she asked the other intern! Hahaha!’) On the upside, though, I might have a secret friend I don’t even know about. Around lunchtime I got a message from someone asking me if I had found an internship I liked because he/she (?) remembered that I had had trouble finding something I like. He/she (?) even spelled my name correctly. Unfortunately, I have no idea who the message is from because a good deal of numbers did not survive the recent transfer to my new phone. So, here’s a shout to the person who sent me the message. It would be ever so great if you could disclose your identity so that I can get back to you. If you want to be my friend, I have slots for UK friends available at the moment.
I guess it’s far too early to make any predictions about how this internship will go. What I can tell you, though, is that I urgently need to work on my attitude. I really was received with open arms and everyone has been awfully nice to me and I don’t think it’s anything to do with the chocolate. There is even an office dog and I am beginning to wonder whether someone knew I was going to be in need of a comfort animal. He even goes rummaging through our dustbins when he thinks nobody is looking, so I already like him a lot. Nevertheless, I do admit that it’s not easy when you’re 34 years old and someone has decided that you should be doing another unpaid internship. What gives me comfort though is that I’ll get to tell the responsible people at my university all about my experiences and my feelings. And the plan is to tell them that I am pissed off. In fact, I am pissed off to a degree that is hard to describe.
