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Riding the Awkward Express all the way west.

January 19, 2008

So I’m in the third week of my internship at a non-profit Off Broadway theater. I’m interning in Development, just like at school, but instead of dealing with bitchy alums I’m dealing with bitchy theater patrons. I should suggest the “No-Crank” policy- it works for MST, it can work for these folks. They’re all pretty nice at my office, managing not to hew too closely to the theater stereotype–my immediate superior is clearly an ex-musical theatre girl, and her voice goes up to ungodly octaves when she says thank you (which, being a development associate, she does all the time).

My Immediate Superior is very superior indeed. She’s been there for a while, and gets into that groove where she knows what’s going on and then, when explaining it to me, leaves out some vital piece of information, which leads inevitably to me doing something wrong. This necessitates me having to re-do whatever it was, sometimes three or four times. I’m sure the Executive Director thinks I’m a total dumbass, because I had to re-do the thankyou letters about six times.

I did hope that there would be some cute male, straight-type interns there, and lo and behold, the good lord gives me Carl, the Enigmatic Literary Intern. He’s British. He’s got gorgeous hair. He sits on the couch in my line of sight, reading in an adorable way all day. Have I said word one to him? No. I’m riding the aforementioned Awkward Train, and I ain’t a-getting off.

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