The Internship

The youngest arrives home from his second day as an intern at a record company.  For this, he's getting college credit and must write a 15-page paper by the end of summer. "How was your day?" I ask.  "I found out that the Starbucks machine doesn't just do coffee, it makes hot cocoa," he says. "Wow, hon. Good for you."  Important to remain upbeat and supportive, especially when over-compensating for my tough critique of his disgusting dorm room.  "Tell me all about it," I say with great enthusiasm.  "I was making coffee for one of the A&R guys.  He wanted half this, half that."  "Go on!"  "So I'm standing there, pushing the left button and the right button and I spot the hot cocoa button and I go, 'sh*t! look at that!" and then I make myself a cup and it's delicious."  "I'm so proud of you."  If only I could get him to push the button on the dishwasher.  "So what else are you doing over there?" "Answering eff'n phones.  One time I said, 'Hello?' I forgot to say the guy's name and he yelled out, 'Don't say hello!'  He was nice about it."  "So, coffee and phones.  Standard intern stuff.  What else?"  "I send out CD's and look for music.  Oh, and I had the best Bratwurst and garlic fries from the food truck." How he's going to get 15 pages out of cocoa and weiners, I don't know, but I can hardly wait to read it.