Internsh*t Part II

After I posted my story about Aflac and the internsh*t, I received a comment from a fan (aka I got an email from my best friend “Jimmy”) reminding me of another time that could also have the title ‘Internsh*t’. Weird things tend to happen to me, I don’t know why and I couldn’t make these up if I tried. Well, let’s be honest, yes I could because I’m awesomely creative. That’s how I got out of work all the time but came up with reasons that I was still very valuable to them. Creativity people. Get it. Buy some.

It started out as a shiddy day (get it?!)…it wasn’t really. I was a “senior” in college and had a real internship at a bank. Let me stop you right there- no, robbing a bank doesn’t count as an internship. No, I wasn’t an Asian bank teller and no, I don’t still have keys to the vault. OR DO I??? So anyway, I would go to this internship twice a week for four hours each time. For those of you playing at home, that’s eight hours a week. EIGHT! No wonder I’m not into the whole “40-hour work week”, I wasn’t brought up on it. At that there internship I was working/coloring/drawing in the Marketing Department. This entailed spending my afternoons thumbing through local newspapers and cutting out any articles/ads/pictures that mentioned the bank. Then I would glue these articles to construction paper like a f*cking 3^rd grader and go home to get drunk.

On said “shiddy day” I was wearing my grey work pants (Editor style from Express) and a blue sweater- yes your Honor, this is relevant and we’re coming to the point. I was at my internship, sitting in my tiny back corner with the 1976 style computer, chatting to Jimmy via gchat about how bored I was and how messed up my stomach was- not an unusual occurrence for me because as a lactard I combined yogurt and string cheese on a regular basis. That instant I felt a little fart coming on, which again isn’t a big occurrence for me- I know, I’m so lady-like *insert ball scratch here. Since I sat alone in that tiny back corner cube it wasn’t usually a big deal for me to…ya know…so I went ahead and did just that. But it wasn’t just a regular fart…there was more to it…I had literally sharted into my work pants.

As soon as it happened I knew something was wrong. “Something AIN’T right here” is exactly what went through my head. Remember when I said I was in ma gray pants? Yikes. I calmly told Jimmy that I HAD TO GO TO THE FLIPPING BATHROOM IMMEDIATELY and calmly excused myself to my boss without saying anything and shuffle ran with my butt flexed down the hall to the bathroom. The way I was moving made it look like I had been shot at close range in the back by a paintball gun. Well, I’m sure you can imagine what I found when I got there and it wasn’t pretty. I’ve already said too much here- but let’s just clarify that I no longer have those underwear, that internship or my dignity. I do, however, still have those pants. Ca'mon, man- Express pants are expensive!!

So anyway…this blog might become a series of my past experiences…since I’ve got NOTHING BUT TIME to reminisce with myself...and my brother, who is also unemployed. We're clearly upstanding examples of college grads. Good for us, D. Good. for. us.