Important ANNOUNCEMENT. Not really.
DramaTweets
For a Good Cause...
Proletarier aller Länder, vereinigt euch!
From the nonsensical thoughts of your DramaQueen at 10:32 PMDramaQueen
That Damn Intern
Job Description:
- Photocopies whatever tickles the fancy of the higher-ups. This ranges from a variety of forms to receipts to love letters to whatever(s).
- Thinks of ice breakers the higher-ups could do in their meetings. (Will constantly fail at this seeing as This Damn Intern only knows ice breakers with double entendres c/o psychotic friends and faculty members.)
- While she's at it, she should come up with an Opening Prayer for any of the said meetings. Never mind the fact that the last time she came up with a formal-sounding prayer was four years ago. Never mind the fact that she completely forgot the format of prayers. Never mind the fact that when she prays, she calls Jesus Christ "Dude" because her version of God is the one from Superstar.
- Creates graphs and whatnot for the Powerpoint presentation or whatever report.
- Transfers office supplies from plastic bags to paper bags for the higher-ups' meeting.
- Other tasks will never be fully inscribed on account of these things all come out of the blue for higher-ups.
Primary Objectives:
- Do whatever it takes to make the higher-ups' lives easier. Call it "Development of an employee-oriented company culture that emphasizes quality, continuous improvement, and high performance," when you rationalize the things you do as not to bruise your semi-dead self-esteem.
- Find a sense of fulfillment as a Cinderella in the workforce. Call it "Personal ongoing development," so you won't realize your their (higher-ups') beeyotch.
I shouldn't be complaining. Really, it's not that bad. Apparently, I have this innate trait to make everything look worse than it actually is.
I think I'm extremely bitter because this is the first summer in my life that I'm not spending being totally counterproductive. Without the lazy afternoons strumming my guitar, the summer feels pointless. Life loses its meaning.
Why couldn't they assign me in a record company? Or a fast-food chain? A video store? Something a teensy bit exciting.
Oh well. C'est la vie.
DramaQueen files this under c'est la vie, la-dee-da, screwed up ideas, the woes of school
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A Poem
By Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
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