This summer I am interning in the College Relations department of Washington College, the partner-position of my main job as Student Editor of the Washington College Review. So far the job has been easier than expected--granted, there's not much for me to work with yet, but it has been a smooth transition nonetheless.
Ironically, this entire endeavor started on a whim. I had read the campus-wide email one day second semester, and for some reason I didn't delete it, even though I wasn't particularly interested in the position. I wanted to go home this summer, see my friends, get away from all of the drama and stress I had been encountering at school that year. But there was a small voice nagging in the back of my head, probably the remnant of a conversation I had had with my mother earlier that week: "You need to get a job this summer. College tuition is going up and you need to contribute more to your education. We can't have a repeat of last summer." In the previous summer, I had been unable to find work thanks to the wonderful state of our economy.
I thought about it long and hard--and I looked at an email my mom had sent me listing a series of internships and possible jobs I could apply to. After cleaning and organizing my room, I felt myself rejuvenated and confident; ready to take on the work force and show 'em E. Walburg's coming to town!
In reality, I was sitting at my desk, despairing at my lack of money and said, "Fuck it. I might as well just send in the damn thing to make my mom happy."
I honestly believed I would not get the position. I sent in other applications, expecting to maybe get one of those, and looked toward May thinking "I wonder if Jimmy John's will hire me back this summer."
About a month and half after I had sent in my application for the Student Editor position, I get an email saying it was time to set up interviews. I blinked at my screen, trying to remember what the heck they were even talking about until I jogged my memory. Oh yeeeeah...
The day of, I was actually pretty nervous; I even put in some effort to look nice and pulled out an old white blouse I hadn't worn in 3 years and slapped on a black skirt. (Hey, I said some effort, not total effort...) Tripping my way down the Cater Walk to Prof. Volansky's office, I finally made there in one piece, passing by one of my competitors along the way. She smiled and said her interview had gone wonderfully. Great.
I get into the office, though, and find Michele Volansky is one of the easiest people to talk to that I have ever met. Comes with being an actress, I suppose, but it was still comforting. I left feeling like I had done a pretty good job, even though I spouted out some of my worries about my lack of skills in certain areas. It's one of my downsides as an interviewee; I'm painfully honest about myself, even if it makes me look bad. Still, though, I thought, "oh come on, you've got some pretty intense competition. You'll never make it."
The next day I received an email saying I was one of the top three finalists for the position. I was stunned. I was doing so much better than I ever expected and now I had something invested in this. There was a followup interview, and a week went by. I walked into work one day (also College Relations. I had had an in and didn't even realize it!) and was speaking to one of my superiors about my hopes to get the Student Editor position. She blinked and said, "But you have it already."
I stared and said, "what?"
She looked a little peevish and said, "Oh, Michele didn't tell you yet? You've got the position. But I suppose you aren't supposed to know yet since Michele didn't email you. Please don't tell the other competitors, they..." but I had stopped listening by then.
Me? I got the position? Really?
I was giddy and completely relieved that I wouldn't have to freak out looking for a job this summer. Granted, I would have to spend all that time in sleepy little Chestertown but hey, I would be making money and putting a fantastic addition on my resume. I called my mom in a rush, all smiles and shaky fingers, spewing out a hundred words a minute. Her reaction?
"Oh, that's nice! So does that mean you won't be able to work on the garden this year?"
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