May 13th

I had a fitness assessment at 5:30 this morning. In order to be slotted access to Chrysler’s workout arena, one must first sign up for an assessment where they measure the following: pulse, blood pressure, and adeptness at waking up before the sun. I scored high but not exceptional marks on all three, so let’s add some yeast to the subject, cover it with a towel, and come back to it later.

In my rush to leave this morning, I managed to leave behind the most crucial piece of clothing equipment known to the working man: the belt. As, at the time, I was wearing gym shorts and a sporty long-sleeve tee, I failed to care about making sure I had all the necessary business clothing for changing into after my workout. I managed to pack a sharp looking pink shirt, shoes, socks, and pants. God once said “Woe be to all Packers.” I know now what he meant.

Much is to be learned from a man’s belt; the depth of his wallet, the breadth of his waist, and the looseness of his pants. When I wear my best belt, people tell me that I must be rich, healthy, and have baggy pants. When I forget my belt, as is the current case, all they know is that I spend every walking moment with my left hand rapaciously shoved at an awkward and almost grasping angle into my pocket. What a debuckle.

Tim Robbins spent the morning (8-11 AM) basically running through his daily routine (factory task scheduling) and narrating his thoughts to me. I spent the morning (8-11 AM) wondering if Tim Robbins is the name of the actor who was in the Shawshank Redemption. I would just check my intuition against reality by looking at Wikipedia, but, as you all know, interns can’t access the Internet (exception; Chrysler.com.) All this talk of thrilling penitentiary escapes has this jail-bird singin’ songs of a jailbreak.

11:00 AM: It is almost lunch time and I am only now beginning to wake up. I almost fell asleep on Tim twice. For those of you reading this after having translated it to a language besides American, this means I almost fell asleep while he was talking, not that I put my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. Two sugary granola bars are the only reason I’m still awake. I will likely be eating lunch with my roommate, a young Casanova from Miami. If you were about to be intrigued, may I point out that the Miami I speak of is located in Ohio. The inmate table has, in the past at least, been frequented by only the hungry. We will, however, accept your dying, your injured, your broken. We will not, however, feed them. I may not have mentioned that food is a valuable commodity to a human engaged in the unending mouse race of office Olympics, but it is. I made myself scrambled eggs late last night, and plan to place them on some sliced bread – mercilessly stuffing my maw until my hunger is slaked. Ready, set, feed.

3:00 PM: Amelia Earheart once said “If you can’t beat ‘em, conjoin ‘em.” This likely referenced her early childhood, when she was attached at the chest to her sibling’s ear. But in this statement hides a greater meaning; listen to your heart. Hasten to make friends and never be afraid to freeze your spouse’s access to your bank accounts. I will keep you updated on my splashings in the social networking pool. You will know most of what I do throughout the day. However, I will leave out the moldy details; meetings and lectures and moral conjectures I will file under banal. You should always wipe at the banal.

Scant are the days when plagiarism falls on deaf ears or slinks beneath blind eyes. With that thought I will end with the following, an original thought: “I ain’t need no chips… take some bread ‘doh!”

Time for me to put on my bright yellow backpack, the one I have had since 5th grade with my initials stitched in the side, and scoot. I’m not worried that anyone will notice though, because they will be too busy checking out my lower thighs, where the top of my pants plan to hang out for a while…