Invaluable Experience
Know what I hate? Internships! I understand the basic concept—some kid offers free time in exchange for invaluable experience—but fuck, the setup is flawed. Can I work 40 hours a week for free? Sure! Just let me cut off what limbs I won’t be needing so I won’t have to eat food to nourish those extra body parts, and maybe I could borrow your pen to dig my new home in the dirt. But hey, it’s okay that I’m selling every orifice in my body to random passersby because I’m getting that fucking experience!
And the thing is that this setup will never change. It will never change, at least not while it could be of any use to us. Because for every person who decides s/he can't afford to sell blowjobs for rent while jockeying an intern desk, there are 60,000 others standing outside the front door.
Some interships pay, and the people who manage them are undoubtedly bound for a good afterlife.
...
My work phone number used to be affiliated with the state tax division. I've had eight or nine calls since I started working here, where people are looking for the tax division. They never ask who I am; they just launch into their rambling: "I can't get into the vender tables and I just updated my password last week on the new tax filing system but the vender tables..."
ME: (whispering) Kathy! What's a vender table?!
KATHY: Like at a market?
LADY ON PHONE: So my password--
ME: Uh..sorry. I think you've got the wrong number. This is Vocational Rehab.
LADY: Well, who should I call?
ME: Um...I'm not sure.
LADY: Well! *hangs up*
And the thing is that this setup will never change. It will never change, at least not while it could be of any use to us. Because for every person who decides s/he can't afford to sell blowjobs for rent while jockeying an intern desk, there are 60,000 others standing outside the front door.
Some interships pay, and the people who manage them are undoubtedly bound for a good afterlife.
...
My work phone number used to be affiliated with the state tax division. I've had eight or nine calls since I started working here, where people are looking for the tax division. They never ask who I am; they just launch into their rambling: "I can't get into the vender tables and I just updated my password last week on the new tax filing system but the vender tables..."
ME: (whispering) Kathy! What's a vender table?!
KATHY: Like at a market?
LADY ON PHONE: So my password--
ME: Uh..sorry. I think you've got the wrong number. This is Vocational Rehab.
LADY: Well, who should I call?
ME: Um...I'm not sure.
LADY: Well! *hangs up*
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