Ode to my Interns

Ah, there you are. Looking at your myspace, scanning your facebook, hopelessly awkward and refusing to say no.

Without you, my caffeine headache may have killed me by now. Without you, that entire pile of hotel brochures would be unsorted, unlogged and definitely uncared for.

You are the backbone of this fine industry (believe it) and without you, publishing would be filled with coffee stained, emotionally drained anal retentive assholes who never get anything done. But thank goodness for you.

How willing you are to please me, how you take on the most tedious of tasks with nary a groan. The only thing that worries me is that I don't trust you - I don't trust that you will take off to greener pastures, something that perhaps pays you real money and doesn't think that "experience" and free vodka is going to pay your bills. But I understand. I was once you. I once had to prove myself to a group of totally ignorant editors who went for fancy lunches and spent hours on G-chat while I had to listen to them explain the same task to me three times.

And I vowed that I would never follow in their boots, but instead, treat every one of my interns with kindness and respect. And while I don't know half of your names, all I know is that you made me coffee and filled out some spreadsheets.

I know your parents don't understand. They didn't live in a world where there was free labor, and they certainly didn't aspire to be fashion writers. But I understand. I know that you are only a quarter of the way there, and much more clawing, crying, whining and copy/pasting will be done before you get to the top.

Our partnership, dear interns, brings a tear to my eye. With you by my side, I can take an extra hour at lunch, and no one (but you) will be the wiser.