I’v been thinking a lot recently, “I gotta get me an intern.”
Not because I’m busy. I’m not.
Not because I’m particularly important. The universe assures me that is not the case.
But I want an intern because I’m pretty sure I could finally enact all the bizarre thoughts I have throughout the day.
“Intern! I would love a bag of only red starbursts and also a bowl of baby carrots. And perhaps a coffee of the darkest roast!“
“Intern! Find me the best fact about flamingos! And find out how they balance! We should put their methods into practice!” (I proceed to fall down.)
“Intern! I need three ginger ales! And a bag full of peaches!”
“Intern! Get the palm frond. It’s above 70 degrees, and I need to be fanned.”
If I had an intern, I would finally have time to try my science experiments (“what happens if I deep fry a radish?”). I could finally commit to my research endeavors (Googling my own name). I could even take up a sport (Raising the roof in the car on the way to work). It would be brilliant.
Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure I would be a benevolent boss. No, I won’t pay them. No, I don’t offer benefits, but I am pretty sure my hilarious jokes would be all the payment they need. (I’m not quite sure why in my intern-having day dreams I sweep my arms through the air and speak in a grand, but vaguely British accent. Is it perhaps because having an intern will be the closest I get to being royalty? Maybe.)
And I will tell you, don’t make the “I need an intern” argument to actual busy people. They don’t love that. I could try taking them a coffee and a strawberry cupcake. That’s the way an intern would get on my good side. Or I could just try living without my palm-frond attendant and bag of red starbursts. That’s always an option.
Meredith Inc. is now accepting applications. You will receive hilarious jokes, poems with suspect rhyming patterns, and of course, college credit.