Nothing Says Summer Like an Intern

In the nation's capital, one experience that occurs every year that is uniquely DC is the influx of summer interns. Almost everyone who is employed in the city has experienced this phenomenon. My office, particularly, was invaded by a gaggle of these young, often wide-eyed and well meaning creatures. Six to be exact. A rather large number, for an organization with a staff of 12.

The most 'interesting' happens to sit in the cubicle directly next to me. I'll call her Svetlana. Svetlana, is Ukrainian. And I mean that in the most stereotypical way. She is tall, blonde, with piercing blue eyes, skinny, wears tight booby tank tops and smokes like a chimney. When she speaks directly to you, there is definitely a feeling that you are an idiot. Somehow she seems to have flipped the roles of intern and overseer.

The first week that Svetlana was here, she showed up late everyday. Now bear in mind, she isn't even due in the office until 10:00. On her second day, she showed up at 11, looking all flustered and breathing heavily (Have another cigarette.) "What time is it?" She asked? "11:05", I answered. She looked like I had just said "frizzledee babwitz." "Wha-? No. Huh?" Shaking her head from side to side. "It can't be." "It is" I responded. "But, how?". "Don't know. Just sort of happened that way." came my response. "No, its not, its 10 o'clock", she demanded. You can see the pattern here. I insisted again that the time on my clock was real. "No, its...I don't understand. My electricity must have gone out last night. My clock said it was 9 o'clock." "Nope, its 11:07." She plopped into her seat, exasperated.

The next day she breezed in, again looking flustered at 10:45 and exclaimed to all how hard it is to get here from the Cathedral area, where she lives (No more than maybe 4 miles away.) Apparently its quite a trudge when you're in heels and such a confining shirt.

The next week, I heard her on the phone with an unknown caller, probably wanting information about our organization's services. "I can't take it anymore", Svetlana complained, "Every night I go out. Every night a different place we go. It is to much. I don't get any sleep. I just can't go out tonight... I can't.... Where are you going?" And the conversation continued. I should add that it must be doubly hard to trudge to Dupont circle from the Cathedral in heels, with a confining shirt and six double vodka's working their way out of your system.

I must say that nothing breaks the monotony of a Washington summer, like a good intern saga. And Svetlana fits the bill perfectly.