Internship

Nikolaus Elsaesser

The intern stared up at the tall glass building, the hustle and bustle of the city right behind him. He walked through the excessively large glass doors ready to take on the day. His internship was phenomenal, working for one of the top firms on Wall Street. The gig had immersed him in real world issues and problem solving situations, and after six months of sucking up to his boss and working grinding hours, he would have one more impressive display piece on his resumé. Then he could use this new resume to get a new job, sucking up to receive a fancier title, maybe something like Assistant to Vice Portfolio Manager.

Processing the demands, “Sell our stake in Big Mac and place a buy order for the Hash Browns!” He thought. The intern took mental notes of each order like a machine and rushed out of the room to fulfill his mission.

The intern hurried back from McDonald’s with the food everyone wanted. A total of 30 hashbrowns, 12 Egg McMuffins, 20 hotcakes, and milk for everyone... except the CFO didn’t want milk. He wanted OJ, something acidic and sharp. The intern stood in disbelief, in horror of what he had done. The CFO stood up, grabbed the kid-sized bottle of milk, and poured it slowly on the intern’s head. They continued to work.

They all look the same, just like him--messy hair and baggy eyes from the long hours, and some sort of sauce or drink stain on their shirt from the anger af a high ranking executive.

He walked into the big meeting room, the intoxicating smell of cologne and shoe shine seeping into his nose almost making him dizzy. It was earnings season and the executives were under pressure. The intense chatter settled down and before he could even ask, the executives started shouting orders:

“Get me an Egg McMuffin!”

“Hotcakes!”

“Milk!” It was as if he was on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange and they were shouting buy and sell orders.

The intern left the office around 11:30 for the executives’ lunch: Subway, of course. He knew all of their favorite sandwiches by heart because it was a requirement for the internship. He recognized interns from the other firms in the city at the Subway. They all look the same, just like him--messy hair and baggy eyes from the long hours, and some kind of sauce or drink stain on their shirt from the anger of a high ranking executive. Though it may seem they would come together in their shared pain, the exact opposite occurs. They become competitive animals--starved hyenas fighting for the last bit of food. They sprint and dive to get in line before each other, and like the ranking of the firms they work for, the top firm’s intern comes out on top. With the milk still drying in his hair, he turns and scoffs at the other interns behind him as if they are his inferiors. He lists the order off with lightning speed and grabs 12 napkins.

The intern comes back around noon. The confidence from the encounter with the other interns evaporates as soon as he walks through the meeting room doors. Three meatball marinara, two grilled chicken on flatbread and two BLTs (one with honey mustard). He hands out the sandwiches one by one, each time his hand shaking from nervousness as if he has seen Lucifer in the flesh. He gives two napkins to each executive. He hands the CFO his BLT with honey mustard but doesn’t have any more napkins. The intern is speechless, horrified at what he had done. He sputters,

“I, I, I can fix it it’s okay! Just gimme a second!” looking around hopelessly he turns back to face the CFO, who has a look of disgust in his face. He starts eating the BLT with the intern standing next to him and the honey mustard begins to drip down the CFO’s cheek. The intern untucks his white dress shirt he bought from Nordstrom Rack the week before, and uses the corner to wipe the CFO’s face clean of honey mustard, getting a bit of aftershave layered on his shirt as well. The other executives just look on without care as the CFO doesn’t even say thank you.

At 3:45, after hours, the company had just presented their earnings to investors. The intern, shirt still untucked and stained from honey mustard, had just returned from Starbucks with coffee for everyone. Six with cream and one straight black for the CFO. Everyone wanted two packets of sugar except for the CFO; he wanted three. But this time the intern was prepared for the CFO’s crap. He handed everyone their coffee and sugar like an exam he had just aced, and got to the CFO, set down the coffee, and dropped the three packets of sugar in front of him like a microphone. The CFO lifted his gaze from the coffee to the intern and said softly,

“You’re fired.”

The intern stood in shock.

“But I did it right! I got three packets of sugar,” the intern responded.

The CFO agreed with reluctance. “That’s not why. Investors weren’t happy with our financials and we’re going to need to lay some people off.”

The intern stood in shock, emotions rushing through his head: anger, sadness, frustration.

The intern looked at the CFO, down at the honey mustard on his untucked shirt,back up at the CFO, grabbed the Starbucks coffee and slowly poured it on the CFO’s product-filled hair.