June 11th

This is the fourth day in a row that I've had a peanut butter and honey sandwich for lunch, due in no small part to the lack of non-perishable food at home and the fact that I am the love child of George Washington Carver and Winnie the Pooh. My eyes are torn up from reading by candlelight for forty minutes last night (I just had to finish the book.) Since last Tuesday, one week, I have finished three books. I think I need to take a break – but, in full disclosure, I am starting the fourth after work. What else can I do with no electricity and… I just remembered, I am going to the Tigers game tonight. Sachin had an itchin’ to watch grown men hit the stitchin’ out of some leather balls, so off we are. I’m guessing about an hour drive. I hope they have electricity.

I had a slow morning at work today, but for the last three hours or so I have been rolling right steady. Two reasons: Tim Robbins is out for the day, so I got assigned one of his plants, and I have had several requests to provide backgrounds for my in-mates. The reason I didn’t get assigned Tim’s job straightaway is because Sal never bothered to check if he was here, and didn’t realize his mistake for four hours. Sometimes you get the feeling that Work Ethic spent, at the very least, his teenage years working for this company, but that he split a long time ago. As for the background requests, this refers to the picture on the desktop of every computer. I have been perfecting mine for the last month; adding to it pictures of Jeeps, eco-friendly concept cars, inspirational (haha) quotes, the Chrysler symbol, and, of course, baby seals. One of the in-mates asked for her own personalized version, and she is from the Ross School of Blindness, like me, so I threw in some photos from school and this:

So, now I have requests pouring in. This will keep me busy during down times, so I’m not complaining. We ate lunch outside today. I worked out before work this morning, and for the last week and a half. The monotonous days are melding together and I hate to see Chrysler controlling the blender. On an up note, I was looking at job postings on the Business school website last night, and it looks like all the interviews are in October. So, by Turkey time, I should know where I am working next year, or whether or not I want to administer the lethal injection of MBA. Thoughts???

June 9th

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 Michigan, striking fear into the hearts of women and children. Ms. Elizabeth Mikrut rolled her ankle trying to outrun a lightning bolt. The resulting pain made her curse the stork that delivered her to this world.

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

June 6th

As a rule, I keep my enemies in front of me and always have my back to a wall. This eliminates surprise attacks and helps me on my path to becoming a forward-looking individual. This also leaves me susceptible to backstabbing.

I had, with the deliberate slowness and irrationality of a timid-by-nature individual, let Sal slip out of my field of vision toward the “friend” zone. Over the last few weeks, I had slipped into a pattern; bounce into work with my hair slicked back, work for a few hours, approach sleep in a square root formation (never quite reaching it – kiss my asymptote sleepiness!), and then treat the afternoon with less respect than Judas got from the pawn shop when he tried to trade in his thirty pieces of silver. Yesterday, Sal betrayed my trust. He loaded me down with busywork during the last hour of my day, when I was poised to perform a prank on a fellow intern. Now, the jolly folly must be delayed till next week.

Today is the Ride-n-Drive, the intern event of the summer. All us bacon bits must report at 11am sharp for lunch, a speech, and, subsequently, three hours of feeling important. We are slotted to cruise around the track in all the latest and greatest achievements of Chrysler, Jeep, and Dodge.

June 4th

Nothing to report. Office prank in the works for tomorrow.

The biggest news of the day is that I brought a picture of Bert in to decorate my workspace. Brightened my day right up, let me tell you.

June 3rd

I have spent the last 7 hours reading, talking, munching, smiling, traipsing, and yawning. None of the above was significantly related to working here at the #1 company in the world. I blazed a path through my daily allotment of labor in three quarters of one hour and since then I have oscillated between Fiesta and Siesta mode.

I inexcusably and unknowingly took part in a team building experience this morning. During the mid-morning hours, when I was just hitting my “looking busy/sexy while doing nothing” stride, my neighbors spontaneously combusted into conversation. The catalysts for this cataclysmic event were severe malnutrition of actual work, colorful commentary from the mouth of Johnny C, and the untested but dynamic social skills of yours truly. Sadly, Erica made the mistake of strolling by during the infant stages of the volcano, and, in the end, was the most severely burned.

The spark was the topic of violence in video games. Johnny C. filled us in on all the gory details; how you can beat, stab, run over, spray with bullets, whip, or curse passersby in the video game Grand Theft Auto IV. He’s never played, but all those who have are condemned to lifeguard the fiery puddles of not-Heaven, according to him. Through some clever twist of words which I am yet to completely interpret, he was able to blame Erica for these egregious acts – presumably because she is majoring in Digital Media.

John was in full plumage, flaunting his true feathers and claiming his son had “soft hands,” when some older gentleman came by and insinuated that John liked Martha Stewart and owned one of her baking aprons. Third generation Italians, apparently, don’t like to be emasculated, and John went to get his lunch two hours early (9:30am.) With the devil’s favorite advocate off to eat, the woman across from John’s desk grilled Erica and I on our backgrounds, with a flagrant emphasis on our outdoor skills. I lived up to her standards, being from Colorado, but the same can’t be said for Erica. I awkwardly tried to ask if anyone had ever heard of the parasitic bacterium that can take over a rat’s brain and control its functions (making it attracted to the smell of cats), but it came out wrong and I just sounded like an idiot. After my attempt, the conversation smoldered, finally dying; unarguable proof that I’ve got skillz that killz – both conversations and the dreams of the young.

I took a post-lunch walk around Chrysler with my only Indian in-mate, Sachin. We were successful in wasting the better part of an hour and avoiding socially relevant thoughts.

What do a teenage plankton’s diary and a Chrysler’s business plan have in common? Both dwell on how hard it is to survive at the bottom of the food chain -- and how unfair it is that life’s raspberry sundaes are doled out only to relevant members of society.

June 2nd

My weekend closed along with my eyes last night in the early hours of Monday morning. I left the Lakeshore late, after attending graduation ceremonies for the class of 2008. This left me little time for sleep. This would be a problem if I worked in a fast-paced, thought provoking, or intelligence required environment.

I have spent the morning splitting needles and finger painting my mind into a corner. My away message on our interdepartmental chat platform reads “I am away artfully drawing the most beautiful blank you have ever seen.” I am carefully considering cultivating at least one split personality to help me pass the time; someone to take my mind garbage out every few days would be nice.

Like the raw passion between a chicken and its egg collector, I just want someone to come and take away my ovally white hate of all things work related. I have read nearly all articles that have ever been posted on MSN.com. I now know everything; including, but not limited to, “8 things that will make your eyes skillfully implode” and “25 things not to say to your supervisor when pigeon birth rates fall below the Mendoza line.” Most of my inactivity stems from the fact that most plants are now completely scheduled in reference to the ’08 year – and we don’t start scheduling ’09 cars for a week or so. The remedial tasks that are thus asked of me in the meantime could easily be completed by a moderately clever medieval pitchfork.

Word has it that an intern Ultimate Frisbee game is to take place tonight on the campus of Oakland University, providing me opportunity to exorcise my hauntingly sedentary spirit-friend Cellulite. For those of you who don’t know what Ultimate Frisbee is, it is football for people who

A) Were dropped as teenagers

B) Were born North of Texas and didn’t grow up in a cornfield

C) Don’t view hair as something that needs cutting

D) Prefer soy milk to steroids

E) Can count

W. King’s Monday Advice: Don’t take stabs in the dark unless you are a Slow Loris or in a serious relationship with a bag of baby carrots. There are very few nocturnal visionaries in this night and age.

May 29th

A Lessen in Talent Acquisition

I lay circuits of ineptitude
In undulating spirals:
A pond frond with a wand, if you Will: I Am

The murky liquid
Ubiquitous and sinister
Ministers to high-heeled harlots:
Susurrations that fail to scintillate

May I interest you in a scorching?
Your eyes; a torching?
A bent soul makes kinder tinder
Than a roasted ghost

The diversion of short division
Has the half-life of an opiate:
Our intellect stays anesthetized
Inside our sterile minds

To disinfect our disrespect:
Delete the square root of Thinking,
Drown the “Tasks with Meaning,”
Then dole out, slowly, the remaining.

As you can see from the poetic outburst of the week, today went by with an unsubtle slowness that stripped me of both my resolve and my diaper harness. Up until today, I had been ziplining about the office with bright eyes and a silver tongue. I have effectively been grounded today though, strapped to my chair by boredom. No man is an island, I know, but I would argue that if your emotional moat is thick enough, there is no difference.

During the last of my many trips to the water fountain on this fine day some liquid got all up on my khaki threads in the equatorial region of my anatomy, making for an embarrassing stitchuation. I tried to look powerful and confident in my wetness but only pulled off an “I’m 21 and my bladder misbehaves every so often” look.

Highlight of my day: and e-mail exchange early this morning. Some HR lady named Linda tells the interns that she has set up an e-mail group to make it easier for us interns to contact each other. She says this is in response to many requests from the interns for her to provide us master list full of intern contact information. I promptly delete the e-mail. 10 minutes later:

Hi Linda,

For some reason I am a member of the InternMailList group. I should not be. I have worked at Chrysler for 14 years.

Please remove my name from this group.

I did not start receiving these "Intern" messages until this morning.

This is when you know a company respects it older employees. I don’t blame the guy for raising his hackles though, those “Intern” messages are hard to decipher and even harder to relate to.