Partly Cloudy, 64°
Hey now, you have no reason to look at me like that, okay? My internship was just like everyone else’s summer internship, I swear I’m not trying to brag. I, just like you, just like Mark, and just like every other shoe-licking intern on the planet, was stuck doing the menial labor that no one else in our respective companies wanted to do. My menial labor just sounds cooler because these backup singers that follow me around do that to everything.
I’m sorry, I’m not trying to undermine this argument by having two really smooth voiced barely dressed ladies singing behind me, but you have to admit, they make this argument sound so, so, so much cooler.
But in all honestly, I was the lowest of the low this summer. I spent thousands of hours stapling documents, organizing filing cabinets, and taking phone calls with ungrateful customers yelling at me from the other end of the line. What part about that sounds even remotely awesome in any way, except for the exceptional vibrato that these backup singers have? Sure, paper cuts sound seductive as hell when they’re described from the vocal chords of a dreamy, male R&B singer cradling a microphone under a single spotlight behind me, but otherwise they suck just as much as any other day job.
Look, I was literally stuck brewing shitty office coffee all summer—the coffee didn’t even have a commercial jingle, and my poor backup singers can sing behind me whenever I mention it. Oh, and remember when I said I tripped and fell holding four cups of scalding coffee and spilled it all over my boss, and then he yelled at me so much that I cried the whole day and ate an entire row of Snickers from the vending machine? Well there’s literally no way you would think that was cool unless these Gospel singing ladies in robes also behind me lifted me up and sang those exact words in beautiful harmony as they swayed back and forth. I admit, those fireworks and trapeze artists that busted in as I was telling the story didn’t really help my case now, but I promise I was just as bored and miserable as you were.
I’m not going to bother crying just to prove it, because this little parade that’s formed behind me would somehow reenact my tears as a grand spectacle of falling water, and then you’d just be jealous of my awesome looking grief.
For your information, though, I was just as much unpaid and broke as you were. I lived on top of a sausage-deli-slash-dance-studio this summer. How can you possibly be jealous of me for that when you got to live in an all-expenses paid company apartment? This children’s choir composed of children from all nations as well as independent tribal islands singing behind me in their native clothing and in their native tongues are yes, adorable and huge-eyed and have just the right amount of squeaky in their voice, but it’s impossible for me to believe that they can convince you that waking up to the smell of sweaty cured meat every morning is worthy of your envy.
Whatever, my internship really was the most boring thing ever, even if you’ll never believe me, or this professional DJ backing up the sentiment with his digitally modified voices. I guess we can just agree to disagree then. Let’s shake on it, and watch my back-up parade inflate massive Macy’s day parade-style balloons of us hugging in our honor.
