My Internships Didn’t Pay in Money But Did Pay in These Very Important Lessons

by Rachel S

Fall Semester, Sophomore year, for credit, State House:
AKA “Not A Friendly Environment, Even If They Did Their Job” — The “General Hooker Entrance” is not the entrance for prostitutes, it’s named after a “General Hooker”, hero of a battle in the Civil War, who was born in Massachusetts. After a semester there, I still hadn’t discovered non-sketchy way to tell visitors which entrance to use. — General Hooker, of the Civil War, had two nicknames: “Fighting Joe” and “Handsome Captain.” — There are crazy people everywhere, and crazy people generally like to call up government officials and share whatever is on their mind, regardless of whether we could do anything about it. — Wednesday trivia games were a regular thing. — An office full of men in their 20–30s who recently came into some power as a legislative aide was maybe not the friendliest place for a 19-year-old blond female intern. I was informed by one that he was “so happy to go home for Thanksgiving break where his mother and sister knew their place and did cooking/cleaning” and recognized if one person had said everything I’d heard, I could file a sexual harassment suit, but as it was, it was merely An Unfriendly Work Environment. — The dress code which applied to interns did not seem to apply to the 60-year-old secretaries. With mini-skirts, plunging necklines, and four-inch heels, she was trying to Stay Young. Or she went clubbing everyday after work.

Spring Semester, Junior Year, for credit, Attorney General’s office:
AKA “I Learned More About Interacting With People Than Saving Paycheck From Looting Employers” — There was a woman name *Martina and she never, ever, smiled but instead frequently complained about everything and everyone. I made it my mission to get her to smile. It took me two and a half months, but she did, and three weeks after that, on my last day, she bought me frozen yogurt, which was my finest achievement that entire semester. — One of my supervisors, *Mike, gave me a lollipop on one of my first days. Apparently I’d won Intern Lottery, or he was just slightly weird. — An aspect of my boss’s job was to have “site inspections” which meant walking around construction sites or other areas where obscure safety rules might be violated. There was one coming up and I asked to go with him and the other (male) intern. I was told the area was “sketchy” and it probably wouldn’t be a good idea. The neighborhood? Weston, the richest town in Massachusetts with one of the lowest crime rates in the state. The Old Boys Club strikes again. — I was asked to watch the front desk while the receptionist went to lunch. I flipped through her T.V. magazine and then accidentally hit a button under the desk which triggered an alarm 12 floors down. Security came up to make sure I wasn’t being held at gunpoint by someone unhappy about their paycheck and I said, no, it was just me, being dumb.

Summer between Junior and Senior year, for making my resume look good, Very Important Person’s office, Capitol Hill:
AKA “It’s Hard To Network As An Intern But There Are Theoretically Opportunities — My first week there I was asked out by a CBS reporter in his mid-forties carrying a Mountain Dew. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: Do you know where the X office is?
Man: No, but I’m looking for it, too.
We find the office, pick up our things, and leave.
Man pulls out phone to get my number: Let me buy you a drink.
Me, surprised: Oh, no thanks, I’m not interested. (because you are in your forties and I have never met you.)
Man: Why not?
Me: Because I’m dating someone. (This was a true statement.)
Man: Oh. Is he here in town?
Me: Yes. (Even if he wasn’t, I wouldn’t go out with you.)
Man: Well, then. My loss. (creeper.)

— Taking the full hour for lunch was encouraged. Since I was an intern and had no one to schmooze with for an hour, most days I went to the basement library and read. — Capitol Hill is like a neighborhood. Besides at least one library, there was a post office, a hair salon, underground trains, and at least three cafeterias. I got my hair cut once ($55) and thought about how I would like to be a fly on the hairdresser’s wall. — That summer the Boy Scouts came to town on their way to the Jamboree in Virginia. There were hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of them, and the only thing worse than teenage boys walking around and saluting at various points was when some came back after camping for a week and hadn’t showered and the entire building reeked of teenage boys. Evidently, personal hygiene wasn’t a merit badge. — I was giving a tour to some friends and friends of friends who were also in D.C. for the summer. One person was interning at the N.R.A. and carried pepper spray with her. After realizing she couldn’t take it through security, we ducked out, debated hiding it to pick up later, but ultimately I hid it in my bra until we passed security. — If you ever become a multi-millionaire and want to donate money to a political candidate and are unsure what you want in return (tickets to something, a photo, bill named after you, etc.) ask for a tour to the top of the rotunda. You climb through the roof of the Capitol building to the dome and there is an awesome spectacular breathtaking and really really windy view. I did not donate millions but somehow the tour guide needed an extra person and I was chosen. I had won Intern Lottery again. — It’s true: It’s not what you know, it’s who you know. Especially in politics.

*Names have been changed

Rachel S. is a (paid) intern who has recently become overwhelmed by twitter and facebook but will never give up her feedly account.

Support The Billfold

The Billfold continues to exist thanks to support from our readers. Help us continue to do our work by making a monthly pledge on Patreon or a one-time-only contribution through PayPal.