After I prepared my daily morning report and handed it to Sal, he said “no activity for the day.” I am unsure whether or not I can take this as a recommendation to take off, so I’ll tentatively stick around for now. The fact that I have been delegated the task of sitting and staring at the computer screen for 7 hours does little to excite me. I noticed over the weekend that my eyes are starting to weaken. I’ll be ecstatic if they can make it through the summer with some semblance of their former selves. Some time ‘round August, I might be in the market for a seeing-eye dog, so keep an eye out for me.
This weekend, I returned home for my baby cousin’s graduation party, and ended up eating more than I bargained for. Such is the curse of finger food. Several thunderstorms practiced their ballroom dancing skills on the skies of
The last four hours of my Friday were filled with heat, humidity, snack foods, professional drivers, and wet backs. This is not a racial slur – it is a physical condition that manifests itself in wind-whipped interns that accept rides in cars with strangers. Braid my hair and call me Brenda, but dem boys know how to drive.
To ignite our twenty-year-old engines, the event started off with a speech from a man who looked like a turtle – sans protective shell. While we dined voraciously on taco salad, he showed us the fallacy of our belief that Chrysler was not the #1 company in the world. By emphatically PowerPointing us in the right direction, he shone a light into the dark corners of the future and told us of glories to come (none of which we will be here for.) As we interns moved on to our pudding-like desserts —our glassy eyes reflecting any relevant information away from our brain — our instructor continued to speak. He challenged us to believe in the CHALLANGER!, the future of our company. I’m not sure if my legs are strapping enough for that hop of faith.
While we waited for a shuttle over to the testing track, a previously unseen in-mate explained to us the past of “Intern Day.” Not entirely convinced of the validity of his statements, I and four others sat, casting arctic glances through the sizzling air, and listened. “Four years ago two interns totaled a very expensive car. You have to have your driver’s license to be out there. Give them to me. Give me your badges.” He was instantly shunned and labeled a radical.
Five minutes later I was whipping around the track at 140 MPH at the mercy of a “professional” driver seated to my left. He tried to make idle conversation, but I politely asked him to snap his trap and pay attention to the road. This ride was followed by three hours of the same. One intern is said to have reached 230 MPH in a “street illegal” vehicle.
Today marks my first full day without electricity at home. This morning was a stumbling dance characterized by a downsloping tempo and cold breakfast.
release me from this cage of sorrow, assure me that, tomorrow,
the sun will rise and cure my eyes of these aching cries,
i dont want to shower in the dark,
any more than a handicap wants to park - close to the entrance,
im sick of reading by the light of the moon; this is no cartoon,
this is serious, im so querulous,
i might start a fight with any of the many Chrysler lemmings
or buy a Ford, just to Escape
the static grip of failed electricity
2 comments:
"or buy a Ford, just to Escape "
hahaha, goodness you're good.
come home.
we have plenty of electricity here!
that intern who went 230 was me,
sachin
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